


Not Too Not Familiar

by Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1)



Series: Transformers Fanfiction [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Crossover, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Slave coding, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, background canon pairings (CDRW + Cygate), only implied sexual content so far, post Elegant Chaos, post TFA Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 90,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gestalt1/pseuds/Chi-chi-chimaera
Summary: An minor accident involving Brainstorm's briefcases results in the Lost Light and its crew being flung out of their own universe, landing at the tail end of another Autobot/Decepticon war. Although at first it seems they will be welcomed while they try to find a way back home, this Cybertron holds dark secrets just as terrible as those of their own 'Golden Age'.





	1. Chapter 1

Brainstorm’s fuel tank churned with nausea as he was pulled back to his own time along with the mechs who had managed to stop his quest. He barely felt the physical sensations - his processor was nothing but numb haze, a state not far from kernel lockdown. So this was what total failure felt like. Not just some minor setback, but the utter destruction of everything he had been trying to achieve. For millennia he had been trying to find a way to go back and change the course of history, to stop the four-million year war between Autobot and Decepticon, but in the end nothing he had done had changed anything. Megatron was still alive. Quark, the mech he loved, was still dead. There hadn’t been any need to work so hard to block the paradox effect because change had apparently never been possible from the start! The future had always created its own past, a loop without beginning or end. An elegant abomination in the eyes of physics. 

That was one possibility anyway. The other was that his failure was his own fault. Brainstorm had stood in the factory where Megatron had been constructed and pointed a pistol right at his spark and… stopped. He hadn’t had the courage to go through with it when it mattered, for all that he was a second-hand killer many thousands of times over from the weapons he had made. It hadn’t occurred to him that taking a life himself would be so difficult. He hadn’t expected he would turn out to be a coward. Instead it had been Rewind - who was supposed to be there to  _ stop _ him - who had taken the shot. Not for the same reasons. Not to save Cybertronian lives, but because of the horrific damage their species had done to the rest of the galaxy over the course of the war. 

It hadn’t helped. Megatron’s ‘death’ hadn’t been Megatron, just some poor spark in his frame that was soon enough replaced by the  _ real _ Megatron - the green spark from Luna he had been carrying with him. If he had known… known that impossible fact… It made him feel powerless in the face of fate, something he had never believed in until now. Links in an unbreakable chain. But Rewind had at least  _ tried _ where Brainstorm had fallen at the final hurdle. 

So much lying, so many selfish intentions to everything he had done for vorns upon vorns, and for what? Nothing. Yes, it had been selfish. He hadn’t really been trying to stop the war to save every mech and femme it had killed. Just for Quark. Love was a kind of selfishness, wasn’t it? Even choosing a path which would have ended up in Brainstorm himself never existing was selfishness of a sort, because it meant an end to the pain of being without him…

For some time thoughts such as these buzzed around his head behind a wall of soft static. The world outside faded into non-importance; the Lost Light, the cell he was led to, the quiet and deadly regard of the brig’s other occupants. Mechs came and went. He didn’t pay them any mind. Eventually however one of them remained standing on the other side of the bars for long enough that certain things about them began to filter through. Red, white and dark grey colours. The soft blue glow of a lens. A familiar cannon barrel over the shoulder.

“Perceptor?” he said, resetting his optics. The static haze faded a little. Complicated feelings were being stirred to life and he didn’t know what to do with them.

“There’s going to be a trial,” Perceptor said. Brainstorm analysed his expression and body language quickly. He seemed uncomfortable. “Ultra Magnus came down earlier to tell you that but he said he didn’t think you heard him.”

“I expected…” Brainstorm began, “No actually, I didn’t expect anything, because I thought I wouldn’t exist by now.” That was more honest than he’d meant to be. He felt off-kilter, unstable. Perhaps he could blame it on gyroscope damage… no, he couldn’t lie that blatantly even to himself.

“It is concerning to hear you say that,” Perceptor said. “You do understand that, right?”

“I’m not suicidal if that’s what you mean,” Brainstorm replied, narrowing his optics. “I’m an MTO. Made for the war effort. I thought I would never have been born, at least not in this body. Not as me.”

“That is still death of a kind,” Perceptor said softly. “Rewind reported what you told him about your motivations. I… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Why are you down here Percy?” Brainstorm asked, looking away. He didn’t want to see that soft, sympathetic expression. All of the sympathy in the world didn’t do anything. It just made other bots feel better for expressing it. “What do you want?”

“You haven’t been responding to anyone. I thought I might have more luck.”

“Well I’ve spoken to you now. You’ve told me about my fate. You can go.”

“If that’s what you really want.” Perceptor paused. “However I had hoped to ask you a few questions about your time machine. It’s a brilliant piece of work.”

Brainstorm couldn’t stop himself from looking up, from the flicker of interest that was both personal and scientific. He’d waited a long time to hear Perceptor ask him about one of his projects in a way that wasn’t frustration at something exploding or an irrelevant appeal to ethics. He knew his genius was a match to Percy’s but that wasn’t the same as hearing him say it. Admitting that an MTO was just as good as a forged mech. Maybe this…

No, what did it matter? They were sure to throw him off the ship after what he had done, and then it was statistically unlikely that they would ever see each other again. The Lost Light careened around the galaxy too wildly for that. Why make a stab at anything doomed to be cut short?

He turned his head away again.

“I really do mean that Brainstorm,” Perceptor said. “I’ve had so little time to study it, and after it’s destroyed…”

“They’re going to destroy it?” Brainstorm said sharply, looking up. Oh no. That was a very bad idea. If they weren’t careful - and this was the crew of the Lost Light they were talking about - that could go very badly wrong. Break the universe kind of wrong. And they would probably blame him.

“I’ve argued we should be keeping it for a closer examination, but that idea was shot down. Most of the mechs on board don’t have our scientific curiosity.”

Brainstorm hesitated. What was the best way to put this so it didn’t seem purely self-serving? “I need to be there when they do,” he said. “It’s a delicate piece of equipment and they’re as likely to set it off as deactivate it for good.”

Perceptor looked alarmed. “Rodimus said something about burning the briefcases… I take it from your expression that wouldn’t be a very good idea.”

Brainstorm just nodded. Under normal circumstances he had an irresistible curiosity for horrible yet scientific disasters, but under normal circumstances he was also in a position where he imagined he could at least try to do something about them. He wasn’t going to trust Ultra Magnus to let him out of a cell to fix what Rodimus was threatening to do.

“I’ll go and talk to him,” Percy said, and left at a near run.

Brainstorm leaned back against the wall of his cell and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. The end of the world might not be so bad actually, now he thought about it. In a way, it was what he had been seeking for himself. Let what would happen, happen. He refused to worry about it now.

\----

Rodimus woke up to what he took at first for one hell of an engex hangover. His head was pounding, and so was everything else. When he opened his optics though he was lying propped against the wall in a dark room, not in his own or anyone else’s berth. Even when overcharged he had never just collapsed on the floor somewhere.

“Computer, lights,” he said. Nothing happened. Gyro spinning, he staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. Someone else in the room let out a low groan. “Percy?” he asked the darkness.

There was a low hum, and then a soft blue glow lit up the space around them. Smoke was curling in the air, and Rodimus realised he could smell burning metal. He patted himself down quickly but no, he wasn’t on fire. Perceptor looked okay too, from what he was able to see. The glow was coming from his cannon-slash-microscope barrel, a narrow beam of light slicing towards him.

“Is that your targeting array or are you just happy to see me?” Rodimus said. Wait, that didn’t even make sense. Perhaps he had hit his head harder than he’d thought. “What’s going on Percy?”

“You were in the process of destroying a one-of-a-kind piece of quantum technology by the very crude method of combustion when I arrived and attempted to stop you,” Perceptor said, his voice icy. “There was a subsequent explosion, and we both were knocked briefly offline. I have no data to hypothesise the consequences of this. In fact, I’m surprised we have a universe to wake up to.”

“What are you talking about? That’s what you’re meant to do with dangerous weapons isn’t it! Burn them.”

Perceptor’s one visible optic narrowed. He started to say something, seemed to think better of it, and went over to the door instead. With the power out, the control interface wasn’t working. He started to lever it open manually. Rodimus made his own unsteady way over to help him.

“What do you think happened?” he asked.

“I’m not about to theorise without evidence,” Perceptor said. “The possibilities however are essentially endless.”

The door slid back with a scream of metal on metal. The corridor outside was as lightless as the room; not even the emergency light strips functional. That was probably a bad sign. “Hello?” Rodimus called out into the darkness. Perceptor grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “You have no idea what could be out there.”

“My crew could be out there,” Rodimus said, shaking off the restraining servo. “Anyway, we need to find out what’s going on.” He took a shaky step out into the corridor. The whirling, unstable feeling in his gyros was starting to ease but it hadn’t completely gone. He started to make his way in the direction of the bridge, calling out as he did so. His voice echoed back from the silent walls. Creepy.

Aside from Perceptor trailing after him the Lost Light seemed deserted and in lock-down. Nobody was shouting back. Rodimus was starting to wonder if only the two of them had been affected by… whatever had happened. It threatened to send a shiver down his backplates; floating dead in space even though they could survive for years on the ship’s stores of energon... Who knew how much of a chance there was of rescue?

He turned a corner and ran smack into someone’s chest plate.

“Rodimus.” It was a relief to hear the smooth deep baritone of Ultra Magnus, not that Rodimus would have ever admitted to that. “Good, we’ve found you. Do you have any idea what might be going on?”

“About that,” Rodimus started, then scowled when he saw the glow of red optics behind Mags. Megatron was here as well. He supposed it was too much to hope that the whatever-it-was had gotten rid of him. Bad enough that he had to admit to fragging up to Ultra Magnus, but to do it in front of Megatron as well? He wouldn’t say anything, but he would be judging him. Silently. Thinking he was oh so much better than him. That he ought to be Captain-Captain, not just co-Captain.

“Rodimus?” Mags asked, after the silence began to drag on uncomfortably.

“It was Brainstorm’s time machine,” Perceptor said. He said it in a flat, emotionless kind of way that you would think would be neutral, but no. Roddy could tell he was still pissed off. “Attempts to destroy it did not go as planned.”

Magnus looked pained. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s something like that. Do you have any idea what has actually been done to us.”

“Nope,” Rodimus said, trying to stay cheerful. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. How was he supposed to know that this could happen? “I was heading for the bridge. If we can get some power, we can at least find out where in the galaxy we are.”

“If we are even in the same galaxy at all,” Percy said. Did he think he was helping? He wasn’t helping.

Magnus nodded. “An acceptable plan,” he said. “I have been trying to make sure that our comrades are still functioning, but thus far the four of us appear to be the only ones on board. We pried open a few cabin doors, but they were all empty. If we get the power back on then we can scan the ship for sparksigns.”

“Out of the four of us, I am most able to deal with that,” Perceptor said.

“Okay, that’s good, thanks for volunteering,” Rodimus said. One problem dealt with, maybe. “You go do that. We’ll head to the bridge.” He had to think for a moment to remember the path to get to there from here. The Lost Light was a ship massive enough for over two hundred mechs and it was easy to get turned around. “This way.”

He heard Megatron make a rumbling noise that sounded disapproving, but he didn’t actually say anything, so frag him.

At least there were no surprises lurking for them on the way there, just a longer than ideal drive in their alt modes navigating in the dark, headlights cutting a path through the heavy black shadows. The bridge hatch was closed when they arrived, because of course. Rodimus transformed back to root mode and looked it over. “In this situation at least,” he said, “I feel like violence may be the answer.” He looked over at the two big bots.

“Stay alert,” Megatron told him, that low rough growl still something out of nightmares. He ought to be used to it now. At least he didn’t flinch like some bots still did, but did Optimus really expect any of them to hear the voice of the Slagmaker himself and just… roll with it? That was Optimus for you. Always with the unrealistic expectations. “We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

Yeah, make me worry, Rodimus thought to himself as Megatron and Magnus put their backs into levering the heavy door open. It screamed in its tracks as it ground metal on metal, a horrid sound that made his plates flare. No hungry sparkeaters or angry Decepticons burst out from the other side though. There was just more darkness, stillness. Absence.

The lights in the bridge were off, but the viewport shields hadn’t slammed down like they were meant to in lockdown. Rodimus could see out into space; the twinkling backdrop of unfamiliar stars, a bare moon not very far away, and the blue-green circle of a planet beyond it. Roddy squinted, adjusting his optics. A familiar blue-green planet.

“Is that… Earth?”

“Yes,” Megatron said, a single world full of disgust. Then he gestured to the moon. “And that appears to be a crashed Decepticon warship.”

“Recognise it from your days of conquest?” Rodimus asked, putting a little bite into it.

“Not at all, which is my reason for concern,” Megatron replied. “The humans have become aggressive in defending their territory. The owners of that ship may need our assistance.”

“If they’re here they were asking for trouble,” Roddy argued. He didn’t like organics and Earth had been a nightmare for the Autobots as much as the ‘Cons, but he wasn’t going to go out of his way to help a bunch of ‘Cons who had clearly been up to no good.

Megatron smirked as he tapped the Autobrand on his chest. “Are you forgetting the ideals you’re sworn to uphold?”

“ _ We _ are sworn,” Rodimus replied through clenched dentae. “Don’t forget you’re one of us now. Fine. I get it though. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us what the hell is going on here. We can’t do anything here anyway until Percy makes some progress on the engines.”

Magnus spoke briefly into his communicator, then shook his head. “17% of the circuits have been burnt out by some kind of energy surge. It will take some time to replace them.”

“Then I guess we’re not exactly useful up here.” Rodimus shrugged, then pointed dramatically to the hangers. “To the RodPod!”

In unison, Megatron and Ultra Magnus put their heads in their servos.

\----

The bright blue lights of transwarp flickered out into the black backdrop of space and the powdery surface of this planet’s moon underfoot. Ratchet could see Omega Supreme over the top of a nearby jumble of rocks, standing still and unmoving. There was no sign of his trusting, innocent friend within the silent form. No way of knowing what the Decepticons had done to him. Ratchet’s spark burned within his chest, an unsteady flicker of despair that pulsed crackling pain through him. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. He should have been taking care of Omega. Just like he should have been taking care of Arcee. Now they both might be beyond saving.

No, what kind of doctor was he, to be thinking like that? Of course they weren’t beyond saving. No-bot was beyond saving until their spark was gone.

“Wow,” Sari said, breaking him out of his maudlin thoughts. “I can’t believe I’m really on the  _ moon _ . Although… should we be worried about that other ship?”

“Uh, what other ship?” Bulkhead asked.

“Up there,” Sari replied, hovering up with her jetpack and pointing. Ratchet followed her gaze up towards the vessel currently hanging in the sky a long way above them. He focused his optics in on it, new worry seizing his processor. It wasn’t of any design that he recognised, Autobot or Decepticon, but it was at least the size of a warship although the distance made scale hard to tell. The lack of visible weaponry didn’t make him feel any better.

“That sure looks like something we should be worried about,” Bumblebee said. “I don’t remember that being here when I was scouting the place. And I think I woulda noticed.”

“We focus on the mission,” Ratchet said. It was too late to back out now, and they had people counting on them. “Keep an optic out for any sign of trouble.”

“No sign of Decepticons,” Bee said. “Again, weird.”

“There’s someone over there,” Bulkhead said, pointing. Ratchet’s optics widened when he saw the familiar silhouette and colours.

“That’s Arcee,” he said, and took off running. The others followed, keeping pace. “Arcee!” Had she managed to escape from the Decepticons? Made it out here and then stopped, unsure where to go? “You’re online!”

When she tilted her head up to look him in the optics though, there wasn’t a hint of recognition there. “Yes youngbots, we’re all online,” she said, and Ratchet’s spark stuttered once again in its chamber. She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t even know who  _ she _ was. “I’m here to teach you to be a Cybertronian,” she said. The words were nothing but random loading of cached and ancient memory, no intent or understanding behind them. Oh Arcee, what had they done to her?

A bot with as little active will as this could never have escaped from the ‘Cons. Which meant they had let her out, or left her here for a purpose. He came to the realisation that it was a trap at the same moment as the cannon fired.

The shot wasn’t a direct hit on any of them, but its impact against the powdery moon-dust threw up a cloud of particulates into the air, blinding vision or any other sensors for that matter. Ratchet coughed, trying to clear his intakes, listening hard for the whine of the cannon charging up again. Instead he heard the clang of footsteps and an unfamiliar voice shouting, “Hey dirtbag! Pick on someone your own size!” Metal clashed, the sound of several mechs going at each other with enthusiasm.

When the dust-cloud finally cleared enough for Ratchet to see what in the name of Primus was going on, the Decepticon infiltrator Shockwave was being pinned down by three warbuilds, struggling and making threats. One was red and gold and about Shockwave’s size, another was blue and white and more massive than even Lugnut, and the last… the last warbuild looked suspiciously like Megatron, albeit reformatted into a different alt mode. Were those tank tracks under protective plating on shoulders and feet?

This all struck him as very wrong. Decepticons were proud of their aerial abilities, and flight had always been too important in the armies of the Golden Age to build many warframes without it. There were ‘Cons with pure tank alts, the General of Destruction Strika most infamous among them, but reformatting to a grounder would be considered a step down for most Decepticons. Why would Megatron of all mechs do so?

Even Shockwave seemed to have realised something was strange as he went suddenly limp and silent, his single red optic fixed on the apparent Megatron.

“Hey minibots,” the red and gold warframe shouted over at them. “This Decepticreep giving you trouble?”

“Who the frag are you guys?” Bumblebee called back. “Rogue ‘Cons? Bounty hunters? Is that Megatron?”

“Really?” the warframe asked. “I guess I can see not knowing who I am, but who doesn’t know Ultra Magnus?”

Bumblebee and Bulkhead looked around instinctively, but Ratchet kept his optics fixed on the strange mechs in front of them. The inconsistencies kept on piling up, and he didn’t like it. Taking a better look at the largest warframe he could see a superficial resemblance to Ultra Magnus in the frametype and colouring, but he doubted the Magnus would come up any further than this bot’s chest. If this was meant to be more Decepticon trickery then they were incompetently off base. And ‘Cons might be many things, but they weren’t incompetent.

“You’re right,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard across the distance. “Every bot knows Ultra Magnus. Which makes me wonder what you’re doing trying to pass off your warframe friend as him. Or why you expect us to trust you with Megatron standing right there.” The only reason Ratchet hadn’t pulled his weapons on them was just how much the odds were stacked against them - although in the case of Bumblebee and Bulkhead he suspected they were still too surprised to have thought of it.

Sari hadn’t tried to do anything foolish either, thank Primus. Ratchet risked a quick glance around for her, and saw that she was crouched behind Arcee, well out of line of sight. Good. Best place for her right now.

“Uhhh, I’m pretty sure this is Ultra Magnus over here,” ‘Rodimus’ shouted, then turned to the massive bot currently pinning both of Shockwave’s servos behind his back and said something that couldn’t be heard at this distance. “Yeah, he says he hasn’t been replaced by a shapeshifter or a clone or anything.”

Did this mech really think that was a persuasive argument?

“And you guys might be out here by Earth but surely you saw the broadcast from the trial? Megatron’s with us now! He’s got the Autobrand and everything.”

Ratchet’s optics were drawn automatically to Megatron’s chest where his Decepticon brand should be. The purple marking was indeed gone, to be replaced by the same red emblem that Ratchet himself wore. It was even more unbelievable, and he was starting to doubt his own sanity.

Shockwave bucked suddenly against the hold the three mechs had on him. “That is not Lord Megatron,” he said, his rasping voice still carrying over the distance between them. “When Megatron returns he will have your spark, imposter.”

“Okay,” Rodimus said. “This is getting weird.”

“You don’t say,” Ratchet couldn’t help himself from muttering.

“These really aren’t the Ultra Magnus and the Megatron you guys know?” the warmech asked them.

Bee, Bulkhead and Ratchet all shook their heads. Ratchet was trying to think of a good way out of the situation they’d landed in. These mechs were clearly dangerously deranged even by ‘Con standards. They had overpowered one of Megatron’s lieutenants with little difficulty, and Ratchet was sure the one calling himself Magnus could keep hold of him on his own if the other two wanted to come after their little group of Autobots.

The false Magnus spoke for the first time. “We do not have enough information about this situation,” he said. “I believe we would benefit from sitting down and discussing this fully.” He did sound a lot like the real one, Ratchet had to admit. Perhaps enough to fool someone over comms, but not anyone who knew him well.

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Bumblebee yelled.

“Yeah, that’s enough talking,” Bulkhead said, transforming his servo into his wrecking-ball. “We came here to do a job, and right now you’re in our way.”

“Aww c’mon, don’t be like this,” Rodimus said. “Look, our friend Perceptor was talking about alternate universes a little while ago, and I’m getting that kind of vibe right now. You little guys were here to fight ‘Cons, right? We’re down with that! Maybe we can help.”

Ratchet was about to tell them just what he thought of that idea when Shockwave abruptly began to transform in their arms. He shrank down into the form of Longarm Prime - enough of a mass-shift that there was suddenly just enough room for him to slip from their tightening servos and make a break for it in the direction of Omega Supreme. “Aww slag it,” Rodimus yelped as the mech pushed past him. “After him!”

Ratchet transformed out his magnets, which Bee, Sari and Bulkhead all took as a signal to go on the attack. Shockwave was more agile than he appeared in this form however, and dodged their attempts with ease as he ran. As the three warframes thundered past after him Ratchet heard ‘Megatron’ say, “The presence of Omega Supreme didn’t make you think something was wrong?” and Rodimus’ reply of, “Hey, I don’t know what he’s getting up to these days!” Shockwave had made it to the access hatch in Omega’s leg, and the warframes weren’t far behind.

“Follow them inside,” Ratchet ordered. “I’m bringing Arcee. We still need to shut down the Omega clones and we can’t let this utter nonsense distract us. Optimus and Earth are counting on us.” He grabbed Arcee by the servo. She came with him easily with just the slightest tug, her face still blank and emotionless.

“What’s going on with those guys?” Sari asked him, flying up to hover level with his head.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do you think they’re really from some kind of alternate universe?”

Ratchet shook his head. They had reached the hatch but the lift was still up in the main part of Omega Supreme. They had to wait for it to return. “That kind of thing has never been proven to exist kid,” he said. “If it was real we would have heard about it long before now. No, those are some very strange Decepticons with a plan they didn’t think through.”

“Could they be bounty hunters?” Sari asked doubtfully. “Like Lockdown?”

“If they are I have no idea what they’re trying to achieve,” Ratchet grumbled. The lift had finally reached them and he pulled Arcee into it, putting his free servo against the wall.  _ I’m sorry old friend _ , he thought.  _ I should have done better _ . “We’re going up to medbay. I need to see what the ‘Cons did to Arcee so that I can hopefully reverse it.”

\----

Rodimus had never been inside Omega Supreme before. It wasn’t that different to being inside a Metrotitan, although that had felt weird too. They had lost the shapeshifting mech when he took the lift up ahead of them, but there were only so many places that the bot could hide.

“Do you really believe that we are in some kind of alternate universe?” Ultra Magnus asked him as they searched.

“I mean, I don’t see what else makes sense,” Rodimus replied. “They didn’t recognise you even though they know who you are, and they didn’t know about Megatron’s trial either. Plus that ‘Con we fought called him an imposter.”

“That’s not such an uncommon opinion these days,” Megatron said dryly.

“Yeah, but you know,” Rodimus said, waving vaguely. “They were all acting strangely. Besides, what’s a bunch of minibots doing on Earth’s moon anyway? They were all Autobots by the brands, but I didn’t recognise any of them. I guess the little yellow one looked kind of like Bumblebee, but… not really.”

“The largest one was your height,” Megatron said. “Unless you’re perhaps describing yourself as a minibot?”

“They’re all pretty small, is what I was trying to say,” Rodimus said, gritting his dentae again. Ratchet had been getting on his case about that lately. Said he’d induce stress fractures if he kept it up. Ratchet didn’t have to deal with Megatron getting all up in his grill about things all the time though. “They’re going to catch up to us soon anyway. We should ask their names this time.”

“Yes,” Megatron said. “I have my suspicions.”

“Care to share them?”

“They are merely suspicions.”

“You just don’t want to look stupid if you’re wrong,” Rodimus muttered.

“Quiet,” Megatron said, holding up a hand. “I heard something.”

In the sudden silence, Rodimus could hear it too. They had made their way up to the bridge now, and there were muffled voices coming from somewhere nearby. He took careful steps to stop them clanging against the metal deck-plating, and made his way towards where he thought they were coming from. There was a plate that wasn’t quite in line with the rest, and a thin band of light visible in the crack. He pointed down at it and matched gazes with Magnus and Megs, then nodded.

Springing into sudden action Rodimus tore the deck plate aside uncovering a cylindrical space below the bridge that seemed to lead down to another control console. There were two mechs there; the one they had tussled with outside, and a bulky con who looked like he could seriously bring the pain if he wanted to. At the moment it looked like he’d be constrained from that by the wires leading up and out of his processor, hooked into Omega himself.

Optics met as the two mechs looked up. Rodimus waved.

“Surrender or get smelted,” he said pleasantly.

The big ‘Con gave a roar of rage and leapt at him, tearing the wires from his head despite his comrade’s warning cry. Rodimus was knocked back from the hatch and landed hard with a heavy weight on top of him. Thankfully Magnus and Megatron had been waiting for this and were on the mech immediately. Rodimus rolled away from the furious battle and went for the shapeshifting bot who was just emerging from below after his friend.

“No you don’t,” he said cheerfully, and punched him in the faceplate. This would be fun - here was a ‘Con he was actually allowed to punch.

\----

Distant sounds of violence filtered down from the bridge as Ratchet scanned through the logs in Omega’s medbay. It lent some credence to the idea that the strange warframes were from a different faction than the true Decepticons. Perhaps this had never been meant as a plan to defeat Autobots. Perhaps it had been a trap for Megatron himself and his lieutenants all along. Attempts at coups weren’t exactly unheard of.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that now. Let the warframes fight each other - he was here to fix Arcee. “Looks like those Deceptiscum fried her processor trying to get the activation code,” he said, “but if I try to rewire her circuitry, it could take her offline for good.”

Sari leant forward, putting one hand on Arcee’s knee and closing her eyes. A soft glow lit the room; the light of the Allspark. “Woah, that’s freaky,” Bee said under his breath. The light had a calming effect though. Ratchet felt his spark lighten despite the darkness of the situation. Sari opened her eyes again and reeled off something about reconfiguring his EMP generator. She had been right before after using her power like that, and he had no reason to doubt her now except for the consequence of failure.

He knew he was going to try anyway.

A few quick adjustments, and the generator was ready. He aimed it at Arcee’s exposed circuitry and fired. For a long moment he thought he’d been unsuccessful, but then the plates of Arcee’s cranium cycled shut and she turned to look at him, recognition in her optics for the first time. “Ratchet?” she said. “Is that you? Did we get away from Lockdown?”

He shuttered his optics in relief as a great weight was lifted from his spark. She remembered. She knew him, and she knew herself again. After all these years he’d managed to save her - and that just left Omega Supreme still needing his assistance. Once he was back online he could sort out their little Decepticon problem upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Megatron ducked under a punch from the mech who had burst from beneath Omega Supreme’s deck and returned it with interest. The Decepticon grunted and reset his single central optic before coming back for more. There was something simple and pleasant about this, more so than his life on the Lost Light up until this point. 

Taken as a whole, the greatest part of Megatron’s life had been spent in battle. A few quartex first as a prisoner and then as ship’s co-Captain had not been enough to degrade his instincts. It was easy to slip back into those ingrained functions, the flowing calculations of violence that ticked over in the back of his processor. Automatic pattern recognition algorithms let him move without conscious thought, reacting to the inevitable consequence of each attempted blow. The rest of his mind was free for whatever was necessary - usually strategic calculations. In this case, strategy would not be necessary. This was not a war, but a skirmish in an unfamiliar world. 

Political concerns however…

Since joining the Lost Light he had been exposed to more nonsense than in any vorn he could name out of the entirety of the last four million years. After the time-travel debacle he had hoped for a period of stability even if it was only brief, however now he was forced to deal with yet another ridiculous situation. He had realised from the moment the ‘Rodpod’ - damn that name - passed over the crashed warship that clear inconsistencies were present. He was intimately familiar with the details of all models of vessels which had been a part of his fleet, but this was not one of them. It was similar, but not right. He had chosen not to say anything until there was more to go on and he was glad of that decision. He would not have guessed ‘alternate universe’ as the explanation, but he was forced to admit that it fitted the facts.

The mechs they had encountered so far seemed to be warped versions of those in their home universe. Rodimus had not apparently been perceptive enough to make the connection, although Megatron had upgraded his own tactical assessment processors and subroutines several times over the course of the war - an advantage he doubted his co-captain possessed. The yellow and black minibot was the one he was surest about; though sleeker and younger in appearance he was clearly some version of Bumblebee. With that in mind, potential identifications for the other Autobranded bots had come easily enough. Bulkhead and Ratchet. Megatron was almost certain of it.

As to the Decepticons, Megatron currently found himself trading blows with what appeared to be a shrunken Lugnut. The Lugnut he remembered - who had perished half-way through the war - had been a massive powerhouse of a mech taller than Ultra Magnus. This mech was a formidable fighter, but even so Megatron wasn’t having to work that hard to overpower him even with the Fool’s Energon running through his lines. Sparring with Lugnut had always been a challenge and this was not. 

Eventually he managed to pin the supposed Lugnut with Ultra Magnus’ assistance, although not without some trifling injuries to them both. There was a pleasing burn suffusing Megatron’s cables that managed to drive off a little of the ever-present malaise his poisoned fuel left him with, and he found that he was baring his dentae in a sharp grin. Hmm. That might be unfortunate if Rodimus and Magnus noticed, but it didn’t appear to have caught their attention. Rodimus was busy with his own duel. Megatron was less sure of the identity of that bot, particularly considering his talent for changing his form. The helm spoke of an empurata victim, but who could say if the circumstances had been the same in their own reality.

Around them the body of Omega Supreme shuddered. Megatron braced himself against the deck plating to keep Lugnut in check. A voice boomed out, filling the air.

“Decepticons present. Autobots in danger.”

Panels in the walls slid open and Megatron’s sensors went wild with pings of incoming peril as heavy grasping arms slid out into the room, lunging for them. His engines throttled up in a low growl as he kicked one arm out of the way, twisting his body over their kneeling prisoner. Lugnut was naturally using the opportunity to attempt to escape, but even as he jerked forwards one of the graspers fastened itself around his neck. It seemed designed only to hold him rather than to crush his processor. Autobot mercy, no doubt.

“Unhand me, traitorous warframes!” Lugnut shouted. “We should band together against the tyranny of the Autobot regime!”

That sort of rhetoric was uncomfortably familiar, Megatron thought to himself gloomily, as he continued to fight off the ship’s attempts at capture. Ultra Magnus, being both larger and as a result slightly less dexterous, had one arm already in Omega’s grasp and was doing his best to pry it off.

“Get off me for Primus’ sake,” Rodimus shouted from out of Megatron’s line of sight. “We’re not Decepticons! We’re Autobots! How many times do we have to tell you guys this before you’ll believe us? Why are you all so fragging suspicious?”

Omega Supreme rumbled with a considering noise. The ponderous, powerful arms paused in their attack. “Are you sure?” he asked slowly. “Ratchet says you must be Decepticons.”

“Ratchet?” Rodimus said, immediately distracted. “He’s here?” There will be time to ask about that later, Megatron wanted to tell him. Focus on persuading the titan not to kill us. Hoping that Rodimus would listen to him was a foolish endeavour though.

“Ratchet is my friend,” Omega said. There was a threatening undertone to that statement. “I trust him.”

“Oh yeah?” Rodimus said, astonishingly not sounding too sarcastic. “I guess Ratchet is a trustworthy bot no matter the universe, if he’s your friend.” That was better. Much more diplomatic. “What’s his proof that we’re Decepticons then, huh? We didn’t do anything to hurt those minibots outside - we helped them against that ‘Con even. And we were trying to capture these two ‘Cons when you attacked us.”

Omega said nothing for a good few breems. Then; “I have reviewed my internal footage and you are not lying,” he said. “I must ask my friends about this.”

There was silence. The arms remained still. In his servos Lugnut shifted and spoke. “Do not throw yourselves upon the mercy of these Autobots - whatever they have promised you to do this, you are being deceived. They will never allow you to return to Cybertron!”

Megatron suppressed his reaction. How often had he himself spoken like this over the years? Fixed in the pattern of their war, an eternity that had ground them into an unbreakable rut of repeating the same mistakes over and over again, worse each time? He could not know how the conflict had played out in this universe. How close this Megatron and these Decepticons hewed to his example.

“You, false Megatron,” Lugnut implored him, trying to turn enough to look at him optic to optic. “Lord Megatron is here on Earth! Your friends cannot win any favour by pretending to have captured him!”

“Is that what you believe is going on?” Megatron asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He required information for his analytical subroutines to function, and that instinct was sometimes hard to shut off.

“We all wish to return home,” Lugnut said. “The invasion has been stalled, but once we are finished with this planet we will sweep over the Elite Guard and…”

“Stop talking you fool,” the other Decepticon interrupted. Rodimus had managed to pin him with some assistance from Omega’s internal arms, though both were sluggishly bleeding energon from cracked or scored plating. “We cannot allow the Autobots to discover details of Megatron’s plans. These traitors…”

“Should be able to see the righteousness of our cause!” Lugnut replied.

“You seem very certain we should naturally be on your side,” Megatron said. “So did the group of Autobots we met outside. I can’t help but wonder why.”

“Yeah, that  _ was _ strange,” Rodimus muttered.

The shapeshifting mech laughed. “You may have painted Autobrands on your chests but you are fooling no-one. You are still warframes. What isolated rock have the three of you been hiding on since you left Cybertron?”

Ultra Magnus had been listening silently to their conversation up until now, clearly thoughtful. “Everyone we have met so far has focused intently on our frametypes,” he said. “There is clearly a significance we lack the context for.”

“Have your memory cores been corroded?” the Decepticon asked. Megatron was still having difficulty assessing his possible identity. “Have you forgotten why Megatron started this conflict?”

“Guilty in two universes,” Rodimus sub-vocalised, glaring. He had clearly intended his words to be heard.

“Assume we are tragically ignorant,” Megatron said. If this Lugnut was anything like the one he had known, he would be glad of the opportunity to expound on Decepticon doctrine.

“Megatron rose up against prejudice and oppression!” Lugnut answered him proudly, just as expected. “He…” There was a pause as Lugnut’s systems caught what Megatron’s were also picking up on. There was a small group of mechs approaching.

“Tried to overthrow the government and conquer the planet?” Ratchet said, entering the bridge. He had Bumblebee and Bulkhead with him along with a delicate little bot the colour of spilled energon. Megatron scanned them, uncertain. There were things that made him think of Arcee, but that seemed unlikely purely from the fact that she hadn’t tried to kill any of them yet. “Was that what you were gonna say Decepticreep? Or was it going to be just more of your propaganda?”

They had a very small bot with them Megatron noticed, hovering in mid-air around waist-height. He took it for a drone at first, but when he focused his optics on it there was something unpleasantly organic about its form. It looked like a human, wearing some kind of suit to sustain it in this environment. Given the planet they were currently orbiting, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. His plating tightened, an instinctive protective reaction.

Lugnut threw himself forwards in response to Ratchet’s words, but Megatron managed to keep hold of him. “We fought in your wars for long enough! Remind these warframes how you rewarded us for it!”

Omega Supreme made a threatening rumble, and snapped the pincers of one of his internal arms threateningly near Lugnut’s head. “Do not speak to my friend like that,” he said.

“He is not your friend!” Lugnut roared. “He is your owner!”

Megatron’s servo darted out to stop the arm in its tracks before it hit Lugnut in the side of the head at the same time as Ratchet shouted, “Omega, no. He’s our prisoner now, and we don’t hit prisoners.”

That was a softness uncharacteristic of most of their kind, even Autobots, Megatron thought to himself. The obvious corollary to ‘warframe’ was ‘civilian’ and it was becoming apparent that this was exactly what these little Autobots were. They were small and comparatively unarmoured because they had never had themselves reformatted for combat in the way that every mech who had survived their long war had. He sent out a low-frequency sensor ping - usually useless against the thickness of armour most bots possessed. It passed right into the internals of these mechs. There were minimal weapons built into their subspace, and only thin, flexible plating. Things were so very different here.

“Very well Ratchet,” Omega said, pulling his arm from Megatron’s grip. Megatron let him. “What will we do with them all?”

“So uh, I take it you’re not going to keep insisting we’re Decepticons are you?” Rodimus asked.

Ratchet ex-vented. “Omega showed us the footage since you came aboard. I’m not convinced about where you claim to be from, but it does seem to be clear that you aren’t working with these ‘Cons. Right now we have bigger things to worry about than you.”

“Megatron has been mentioned several times,” Ultra Magnus said. “To clarify, I am referring to the Megatron native to this dimension.”

“Hmm,” Ratchet said. “That’s right. He’s doing his best to make a mess of that planet down there.” He gestured in the rough direction of Earth. Then he paused and narrowed his optics. “You know, if I believed what you were saying about this dimensions malarkey, it would imply that’s some kind of version of Megatron right there. So maybe you should think twice about your story.”

“How about we get these ‘Cons in the brig and give you a hand?” Rodimus suggested. “Will that help prove we’re not the bad guys here?”

“It’s a start.”

\----

Perceptor straightened up wiping grease from his servos. The last of the fried circuitry had finally been replaced and the quantum engines of the Lost Light started up again with a soft hum. Lights flickered on around him. Power had been restored, which would hopefully allow them to scan the area and work out just where they were and what that meant. Not only that but they could scan the ship for spark-signs and see if any of their comrades had been transported along with them. He turned and started to head towards the bridge.

“Percy!” A familiar voice shouted in triumph. “I thought it might be you down here.”

Brainstorm was standing in the doorway, looking triumphant. Rodimus still had his faceplate subspaced in preparation for the trial, so that expression was even more obvious than it usually was. Brainstorm often had reason to feel triumph.

“I suppose I should not be surprised that you were brought with us,” Perceptor said, ex-venting. “Your invention is to blame for all of this after all.”

“Honestly I thought Rodimus would have killed us all doing that,” Brainstorm replied. “Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes in my cell to see that I wasn’t dead and that the bars had shorted out.”

“What about the other prisoners?” Perceptor asked.

“Not there,” Brainstorm said. “I seemed to be the only one. I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to escape at first, but then I got bored.” That sounded like him. “I found a few friends in the corridors… or uh, I guess that might not be the best word to use anymore.” He looked thoughtful.

“Friends?” Perceptor asked. He knew if he didn’t keep Brainstorm on topic the conversation could end up anywhere. “Who exactly? We didn’t see anyone else on board.”

“Who’s we?” Brainstorm riposted.

“Megatron, Ultra Magnus and Rodimus,” Perceptor said, seeing no reason not to share that information. “They left the ship in the Rodpod to investigate the local area. We appear to be orbiting the planet Earth roughly level with its moon.”

“Iiiiinteresting,” Brainstorm said, drawing the word out. “I spotted Whirl, Cyclonus and Tailgate before they spotted me, which was good as I detected a certain amount of hostile energy from their direction. I think they might be taking the whole Decepticon thing a little personally.”

Perceptor looked away in the face of that brittle cheeriness. “I don’t think it’s very fair of them,” he said. “The war is over. We have Decepticons as part of our crew. You may have poisoned the drinks at Swerve’s but you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Not even when I wanted to,” Brainstorm said.

“You… seem brighter than you did before,” Perceptor said cautiously.

“There’s a scientific mystery here,” Brainstorm replied. “I may not have a lot of evidence to go on, but I have an idea that something very strange has happened and I want to study it.” For a moment Perceptor met his optics and saw the chasm of hurt hiding behind them. “We’ll see what happens afterwards.”

\----

Ratchet could feel his worry burning in the back of his processor but he had too much to concentrate on to pay it any mind. Arcee’s recovery was a miracle, but he wouldn’t be able to relax until he had a chance to sit her down in a proper medical bay and run every test he needed to in order to know that she would stay that way. Omega Supreme was awake again, but he had spent a long time in Decepticon servos. Optimus was down there on Earth trying to protect their friends with a weapon he had never used before and a ramshackle jetpack, and he was facing off against Megatron himself. The three glitched warframes ought to be the least of his worries given all that.

He shot the trio another suspicious sideways glance. Omega’s evidence - the footage of them fighting Shockwave and Lugnut on the bridge - was enough to make him doubt his initial belief that they were Decepticons, whether working for Megatron or attempting a coup against him. It didn’t mean he believed their explanation. Ratchet couldn’t figure out if it was a lie or whether they actually believed it themselves. It could be some kind of processor glitch, but three bots didn’t all get the same glitch even if they were sharing code on the regular. So it was a lie, but what were they trying to gain by it?

Lugnut thought they wanted to buy their way back onto Cybertron by giving up their friend and apparent Megatron to the Elite Guard. Ratchet didn’t buy that theory. The idea that they were neutrals did seem to be the most likely however. Aside from the Supremes, and now whatever had been done to create those two young fliers, there hadn’t been any warframes constructed on Cybertron since the Age of Expansion. Or the Golden Age, as youngbots liked to call it now. Hah.  _ They _ hadn’t lived through it.

No, these mechs weren’t newly forged. They were just as old as the ‘Cons, but probably had been hiding on some backwater world or moon or asteroid ever since they deserted. Just their bad luck they chose to show their faceplates now of all times. It had to be easy to glitch if you didn’t see another mech aside from your two friends in millennia. He was being soft-sparked, Ratchet thought to himself, if he was starting to feel sorry for these bots.

Omega streaked through the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere, aiming for Detroit. The view took on a red haze with the heat of re-entry and then they were through and looking down towards the green and blue and brown of an organic planet. The proper grey of civilisation grew in the viewscreen as they approached the city.

“Decepticon signals detected,” Omega said. “Calculating approach.”

There were two massive shapes looming between the buildings, and both appeared to still be moving. “Those are some impressive war machines,” the warframe named Rodimus said, leaning forward to get a better look. Ratchet ignored him. Disconnecting Lugnut hadn’t been enough to stop the clones. They could only hope the original Omega would be.

“How do you feel about sending these second rate knock-offs back to the scrap heap?” he asked, stroking a servo over Omega’s control panel.

“It would be my pleasure,” Omega replied. In free fall with the power of gravity itself behind him Omega barrelled into one of the clones, knocking it backwards and stumbling to fall onto the ground. The other continued to walk on towards Sumdac tower, not even looking around. Little more than drones ithen, Ratchet thought. Good. He scanned the skies for Optimus. There were two fast-moving dots not far off, dancing around each other. Surely that had to be Optimus and Megatron - and it looked like Optimus was putting up a good fight. Even so, despite all of Optimus’ determination and ingenuity, that was  _ Megatron _ . Ratchet wanted to command Omega to help, but the clones were too big of a threat. He forced himself to look away. 

“Uhhh, does that thing have Starscream’s face?” Bumblebee asked, pointing at the downed clone in the viewscreen.

Bee was right. Ratchet didn’t have the first clue what the significance of that might be. “Whatever Starscream’s plan is, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “We need to destroy the clones no matter what.”

“Clones…” Rodimus said. He was grinning. “Cool.”

Omega landed and strode forwards, starting to trade blows with the other massive mech. A powerful kick to its midsection seemed to set off some kind of small explosion and sent it toppling back to the ground once more. Omega didn’t give it time to recover. He stood over it and hammered away at its thorax until the plating split asunder and the energon started to flow. Sparkless drones these clones might be, but they were still anatomically the same as any other Cybertronian. Ratchet had to look away from the gruesome scene, and he saw Bee and Bulkhead doing the same.

“Primus,” Bulkhead muttered, shielding his optics with one servo.

The warframes, Ratchet noticed, didn’t seem particularly bothered by the sight of all that energon. Their programming wasn’t the same as that of civilian mechs. Some vital lines of code were missing.

“One down!” Bee said, with a forced cheerfulness. “One to…” He was cut off by Omega rocking forward in response to a heavy blow from behind. He staggered forwards a few steps and the bridge juddered with him, internal gyros only able to compensate so much. Omega sank to all fours and then they were moving again, dragged from the ground and starting to spin in the air. The other clone must have them by the leg, Ratchet thought dizzily, as he was thrown across the room and pressed into the wall along with everyone else.

“Auuhhh, Bulkhead, get off of me,” Bee screamed from somewhere nearby. Ratchet couldn’t even turn his head to look.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the larger mech shouted back. “I’m stuck!”

“At least you didn’t land on me!” Sari said. “I can barely breath as it is!”

Ratchet could hear several massive crashes rumbling against Omega’s external plating and then they were in freefall, thrown through the air with some force. Omega grumbled and his engines roared, the whirr of transformation suddenly filling the room as he reverted back to shuttle mode and tried to slow their fall. They still slammed into the ground with a strut-jarring impact. Ratchet groaned as the world finally stopped moving. He was sprawled out on the floor of the bridge somewhere and his systems were in such dysequilibrium he wasn’t sure he was able to get up.

“Do you need some assistance?” The voice was just different enough from the one that haunted Ratchet’s recharge cycles that he was able to control his reaction. He reset his optics to find himself looking up at the false Megatron, who was standing over him and holding out a servo. There was an appearance of concern on his faceplates. Ratchet didn’t believe it for an astrosecond. Still he accepted the servo and was easily pulled upright. None of the warframes seemed as affected by the gravitic forces and disorientation as the rest of them.

“Is everyone alright?” Omega asked them.

“All bots, half-bots and almost bots present and accounted for,” Sari replied, draped over a console. Ratchet was still watching ‘Megatron’, and saw his optics narrow. Dammit Sari, he thought. He had no idea what they might think about techno-organics, but he was well aware most Cybertronians didn’t think them much better than regular organics. He didn’t want these warframes to know anything that could even possibly be a weakness.

“Hey Ratchet?” It was Bee, pointing out the viewscreen again. “What’s that?”

Between the buildings of Detroit city, a thin line of blue light could just be seen streaming upwards from the tip of Sumdac tower. Rodimus suddenly gasped, his engine revving in pain, and put a servo up to his chestplates.

“What is it?” ‘Megatron’ asked, showing sudden concern. The last and largest of the three warframes also crowded closer.

“Nothing,” Rodimus said, waving them off and straightening up. “It’s gone now.”

“You were clearly in pain Rodimus,” ‘Ultra Magnus’ said.

“Yeah, it was just… this sharp stab where the matrix used to be,” Rodimus said, frowning and rubbing at the spot. “But like I said, it didn’t last long. I have no idea what caused it.”

There was a bright flash of light from outside. A glowing ball of energy was visible when it cleared, centred on the last remaining clone, stopping it in its tracks. Ratchet wasn’t about to question the cause of this sudden good luck, just as he didn’t have the time to question what ‘matrix’ Rodimus might be referring to. “Omega, are you alright?” he asked.

“Functional Ratchet,” Omega replied. “Give me a moment.”

The sphere was lifting up into the air, and the clone inside was emitting light of its own, only this time a pulsing red. As Ratchet watched that light bloomed into an explosion contained inside the blue shield and leaving a plume of grey smoke in its wake. After a few moments more the sphere dissipated and the smoke with it. There was no sign of the last Supreme inside.

“Take a moment and all the ones after that you need,” he said to Omega. “I think it’s over.” No matter what had caused that shield, Megatron would never have allowed it to take effect if he was at all able to stop it. He might still be up and fighting, and if so they would just have to deal with that, but the main threat to Earth was done. Megatron wasn’t going to be able to batter through the shield at Sumdac tower without the Omega Supreme clones, which meant he wouldn’t be able to gain control of the space-bridge there. His plan had been foiled.

“It’s not over until we know Optimus is all right,” Bulkhead protested.

“Yeah,” Bee said. “He was fighting  _ Megatron _ .”

There had been a definite reaction from all three warframes to the name ‘Optimus’, which Ratchet found deeply suspicious. There shouldn’t be any reason for them to know Optimus no matter what story for their presence here was true. Neutrals would have had no reason to have heard of one Prime amongst many in the Elite Guard, and it strained his credulity even further to imagine they just  _ happened _ to know some ‘alternate universe’ version of him either.

“Let’s get over there and see if we need to pick up the pieces,” he said. “Omega?”

There was a grinding sound - misaligned transformation seams. “Sorry Ratchet,” Omega said. “I can’t…” Again the painful whirr. “I seem to be stuck. I am sure I can…”

“That’s alright,” Ratchet said. He would need to give Omega some medical attention after they were sure things were safe; transformation seam issues could take some time for self-repair to sort out. “We’ll go by ground.” He looked around to the crew on the bridge. “Transform and roll out.”

\----

Optimus onlined to pain. Every circuit and micrometer of plating seemed to hurt. He spent a few astroseconds awash in a sea of sensation before memory hit. He had been fighting Megatron. With the Magnus Hammer, even managing to stand his ground. Then they had both been trapped within some kind of strange energy bubble around the Starscream Supreme. Megatron had managed to overpower him… had been on the verge of killing him…

Prowl! Prowl had pulled him out of there. How? Optimus shook his head, pushing himself upright. Megatron had been inside the energy shield when the Supreme exploded. It didn’t seem likely that he had survived that, but…

“Prime!” That was Ratchet’s voice! “We did it! The shield worked!”

“The Starscream Supremes are history!” Bumblebee - he had survived as well. Optimus turned to see his crew running towards him, accompanied by Sari and Arcee… and three warframes. He lunged for the Magnus Hammer lying on the ground not far from him but stopped as his servos closed around the handle. The warframes were running  _ with _ his friends, not chasing them. They didn’t have weapons out, and they didn’t appear aggressive in any way. He wasn’t sure what the exact circumstances were, but there was nothing about what he’d seen that suggested this was a threat he needed to deal with right now.

“Everybody’s okay!” Bumblebee said, grinning.

“Not everybody.” Optimus turned back to see Jazz approaching with a body in his arms. Greyed out, colour nanites dying along with processor and spark.

“Prowl?” Sari said, her voice laden with emotion. Optimus had to hold back a glitch in his vocaliser, a harsh buzz of sound that wanted to make itself heard. He could hear the rough sounds of his friends resetting their own vocalisers as well. Nobody spoke. Nobody wanted to make it real.

“He gave up his spark to save us,” Jazz said, looking down.

The disbelief turning his limbs to lead finally broke. Optimus pushed himself to his pedes with a choked off “No,” and moved to put his arms around that limp body, as though by touching Prowl he could jolt him back to life, as though he could wipe off the grey and reveal healthy black and gold underneath. As he stepped forward however there was a loud whine as an energy weapon powered up and a large servo grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him out of the way as a beam of purple crashed through where he had been standing. It hit the shoulder of whoever had pulled him back but they simply growled and revved their engine into higher gear.

Optimus looked up into the faceplates of… of Megatron? Or not Megatron, he thought as he looked more closely. A warframe who looked an awful lot like Megatron, but who had some kind of tank alt-mode judging by his kibble. The mech looked down at Optimus and said, with what seemed surprising calmness, “Your foe is still alive.”

The cannon shot again and the warframe pushed Optimus out of the way, dodging himself. The real Megatron was in the air, jetting towards them at high speed, firing as he went. His armour was cracked and warped and coated in dried and burned energon but he seemed unaffected by any of it. “How dare you interfere!” he snarled, his attention going to this new enemy. “These Autobots have meddled for the last time!”

“We’re not afraid of you!” one of the other warframes called out in answer - this one red and gold - before dropping into a combat stance. The three warframes faced up against Megatron and Optimus’ servos tightened around the Magnus Hammer. Whoever they were this wasn’t their fight, but they were standing up for him and his crew anyway. He wasn’t going to let them do so alone.

Optimus could feel the hammer vibrating. It was easier for his systems to interface with it now after some practise, and it seemed willing to follow his commands. He activated his jetpack and leapt over the heads of the other mechs, intent on meeting Megatron in the air. Electricity crackled around the head of the hammer, and as he dodged cannon blasts and raised it to strike he felt that energy concentrating, building. When he brought it down on Megatron’s helm he could feel the discharge of power in his dentae. Megatron was thrown down onto the surface of the road, skidding along it in a shower of sparks and grinding metal. Optimus landed in front of him, aware of the warframes running to join him. Up close Megatron looked even worse. Parts of his plating were missing entirely exposing bare circuitry and vital internals. It was a wonder he hadn’t been forced into stasis-lock.

“What are you waiting for Autobot?” Megatron said. He didn’t try to get up, to fight back. Perhaps he couldn’t. “Finish me.”

His course of action should have been clear, but when it came right down to it Optimus felt himself hesitate. When he brought the hammer down it wasn’t on top of Megatron’s spark, but buried in the tarmac just to the side of his helm. “That would be the easy way out Megatron,” he said, straightening up. “You don’t deserve it.” He let the hammer drop at his side and subspaced a pair of stasis cuffs.

“Not to tell you your business,” the red and gold warframe said, coming up behind him. “But are you sure that’s a good idea.”

The tank-alt warframe rolled his optics. “Don’t try too hard to hide your desire to see me..Megatron dead,” he said. Optimus carefully ignored the stutter over the warlord’s name. Megatron was enough to intimidate anybot after all.

Optimus reached down to fasten the cuffs over Megatron’s wrists. The warlord didn’t put up a struggle there either. He looked exhausted. Running on fumes. Optimus turned to face the three warframes.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he said. “My name is Optimus Prime.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jarring disconnect between universes starts to become more apparent to these far-flung travellers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this; I was on holiday without access to the internet.
> 
> Oh, and I was also rec'd this in the comments: http://bobateebrek.tumblr.com/post/163695307586/brainstorms-vaca-in-parallel-universe-goes

"You’re Optimus Prime?” Rodimus didn’t know what he had expected from this universe’s version of Optimus, but it certainly wasn’t the diminutive mech standing before them. Far from the real Optimus’ imposing stature, this mech wasn’t any taller than his minibot comrades even with the jetpack strapped onto his back boosting his profile. Sure, there was a determined, steadfast look about him despite the energon streaked over his plating and the extensive battle-damage, but there was something… almost young about him. Something in his optics, perhaps?

The last time Rodimus had seen Optimus faceplate to faceplate it… hadn’t been a good experience. When Rodimus had left Cybertron the first time as Captain of the Lost Light Optimus had been supportive, if distant. He’d had his own problems at the time, so Rodimus hadn’t thought much of it. In the Dead Universe though, when he had spilled the story about Overlord to Optimus, admitted his mistakes and looked for some kind of forgiveness, some kind of absolution… Optimus had as good as ground him into the dirt. Told him he should be ashamed of himself. That he should have resigned if he wanted to pay for his mistakes.

But Prowl wanted me to, Rodimus had wanted to argue. He’s your main strategist! Doesn’t he share some of the blame? It would have come over like whining though, so he hadn’t. He kept his mouth shut and hoped the chastisement would be the end of it.

Then had come the trial, and Megatron’s request, and learning that Optimus thought he was so bad at being a leader that the worst mech in the whole universe was a better choice than he was. When he’d been cooped up in his room driving himself mad running his thoughts around and around in his head that had been one of the major themes. Rodimus had spent a lot of time imagining the next time he saw Optimus. The arguments he would make in his defence. The demands to know exactly what Optimus was thinking. The evidence of whatever evil things Megatron had been up to in between - although so far he was behaving himself which shouldn’t make Rodimus as angry as it did. Sometimes in moments he wasn’t proud of he thought about punching Optimus right in the faceplate.

He didn’t know how to react now. Not to this little bot who didn’t even slightly remind him of serious, overbearing, Primus-damned judgemental Optimus Prime.

This bot who was looking up at him with a puzzled expression. “You seem surprised,” he said. “I’m not sure what you might have heard about me.”

“That’s… a long story,” Rodimus replied. It was hard to take his eyes off Optimus. He could even half-forget that there was a version of Megatron sprawled on the ground in cuffs behind him. Let’s not think about that too hard. “You see, we’re from another dimension.”

The sceptical expression wasn’t exactly a surprise. “I’m sorry?” Optimus asked politely. “My audials must be glitching. I thought you said you’re from another dimension.”

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat. “Yes sir, strange though that is to believe. There was an accident aboard our ship which appears to have transported us into your dimension. We encountered your friends on this planet’s moon…”

“Don’t believe that rot,” Ratchet said, rolling his optics. Rodimus could really see the resemblance now he knew who this bot was. He should have guessed sooner. There weren’t many mechs as grumpy yet well-meaning as Ratchet. “These guys have either fried their processors or they’re spinning a yarn for some reason Primus only knows. They seem not to mean any harm though.”

“It’s the truth,” Rodimus said, “but sure, whatever, don’t believe us. We didn’t plan to come here and we don’t plan to stick around if we can at all help it.”

“Oh yeah,” the bulky green mech said, gesturing with a heavy servo, “and where are you gonna go? Running off to tell the Decepticons what’s happened to Megatron?”

“Again with this?” It had almost been funny at first but now it was starting to get on Rodimus’ nerves. “We’re not Decepticons. We don’t want anything to do with them. There isn’t even a war on where we come from!”

“Wasn’t supposed to be a war on here,” maybe-Bumblebee said quietly.

“We can talk about it later,” Ratchet said, pushing past Rodimus to put a supporting servo under Optimus’ arm. “You need medical attention, and our prisoner needs to go somewhere a little more secure than the street.”

“I’m okay Ratchet,” Optimus objected, which was just like him in any incarnation. Then he winced. “Maybe just mostly okay. Ow, that hurts.”

Megatron’s engine grumbled - the Lost Light’s Megatron. It was this little trick he had that Roddy had noticed. The little sound got your attention more subtly than the ‘cough’ of resetting a vocaliser, and you found yourself looking at him without realising it. Urg, he was just the worst. “What are your plans now?” Megatron asked. Rodimus was sure that question wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Optimus started to answer, but the other Megatron got in before he could. “Dragging me back to Cybertron I imagine,” he said. “Do you imagine your Council will be as merciful as you Prime? I will hope for a mockery of a trial and an execution.”

“You will be subject to Autobot justice,” Optimus said. “I have found it to be firm but fair.”

The alternate Megatron laughed. It was mocking, but not happy or satisfied. “I’m certain Autobot decisions on Autobot crimes are one thing. In my experience Decepticons are judged far more harshly.”

“You deserve it!” maybe-Bumblebee said fiercely. “You started a war, and you’ve killed hundreds of bots, maybe thousands over the years!” If that was all, then these Autobots should count themselves the luckiest mechs in the multiverse. "Prowl died to stop you!"

Prowl? The only dead mech here was the one still being carried by that lithe black and white mech with the visor. The two of them were keeping their distance, and that mech looked like he was off in his own world. The dead bot was already greyed out so Rodimus couldn't judge what his colours had been, but in build he looked nothing like Prowl at all. At least with the other alternates he could see some similarities to a greater or lesser extent.

“Don’t speak about what you do not understand,” Megatron replied, sounding more angry than Rodimus would have expected. He glanced over at their own Megatron. He was watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression. Something about it didn’t sit well.

“I fought in the war,” Ratchet said. “I understand, and if it had been me wielding the hammer we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Probably why I’m not worthy of the thing. Still, you’re our prisoner now and we all have to deal with that. Get on your pedes if you don’t want to be dragged all the way to Omega Supreme.”

Alt-Megatron smirked. “A choice I would have respected,” he said. “As to your request, I shall have to decline. I don’t believe my capabilities extend to standing at the present time.”

Ratchet huffed, then gestured to Rodimus, Ultra Magnus and their Megatron. “All right warframes, make yourselves useful. Help him up.”

It was a reasonable request but getting so close to any Megatron made Rodimus hesitate. Ultra Magnus and their Megatron didn’t have any such worries apparently, so he went over to help them rather than look like an aft. There was a pungent stink of burnt energon drifting off Megatron’s plating; Rodimus almost gagged. In the end though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t smelled plenty of times during the course of the war even as far back as Nyon.

No. Let’s not think about Nyon.

Rodimus was distracted, but he still just caught the slight turn of their Megatron’s head as he heaved his counterpart up with servos supporting arm and shoulder, the quiet whisper with lips barely moving. “The two of us should talk.” The wounded Megatron replied with a blink, long and slow, and a seemingly meaningless pat of servo on plating. Rodimus narrowed his optics and glared. What was Megatron planning? It couldn’t be anything good.

Their Megatron caught him looking and cocked his head to one side with an easy smile. I know you know, he seemed to be saying. What are you going to do about it?

Well something, Rodimus wanted to reply. It wasn’t really the time or place though.

Even once he was upright this version of Megatron was in a bad enough way that he could barely stand. Mags and Megs had to keep their servos on him like a pair of living crutches. “I’m impressed,” Rodimus said, addressing Optimus. “What did you do to the guy?”

Optimus looked troubled. “He was still inside the energy shield when the Supreme clone self-destructed,” he said. “I’m surprised he survived it at all.”

"Warframe armour," Ratchet said. "Always a trade-off between speed and durability, but I can see from here it's battleship grade." He snorted. "Impressive."

Again that smirk. Rodimus was starting to think this Megatron's faceplates might have stuck that way in the blast. "I was designed for much more formidable opponents than Autobots," he said. "It was another good attempt from Starscream, but he didn't succeed the first time he tried to kill me. He should have known better than to try again."

"Hey," little alt-Bumblebee said, "give us some credit. Prowl gave his life to trap you in there!"

"A noble death - befitting a warrior's I'm sure. Pity it was for nothing."

"You slag-munching piece of..." The bulky green mech went for him but Optimus - of course Optimus - was there putting himself in the way.

"He's showing us his true colours now," Optimus said, "and he's just as despicable as we knew he was. But don't let him bring you down to his level Bulkhead." Okay, that was who that was. Rodimus guessed he could see it.

"Sure Bossbot," Bulkhead said, his anger quieting way faster than Roddy would have thought possible. Was that an alt-universe thing, or an Optimus thing? Why did no-one on the Lost Light ever pay that much respect to him?

Their Megatron was frowning. "Are you trying to provoke them?" he asked.

"I've spent some time on this planet fighting this unit," alt-Megatron replied. "I trust their justice more than that of the Senate." Which was basically an admission that yes, that's exactly what he was doing.

This universe - this version of Cybertron - still had a Senate then huh? Rodimus his fuel tank give a wary stutter. There was no reason to believe that this Senate was anything like the one Optimus had fought to reform and Megatron had slaughtered, but... what if? What if all the old corruption, the taint they had tried to cut out, still existed here?

That was silly though surely? There were Autobots and Decepticons here, and Megatron had started a war, so didn't that mean that history was the same? Optimus Prime was standing right here and this was a mech who had barged right into the middle of the Senate in session to call them out for what they'd done. Prime would never stand by if...

"We're not exactly a 'unit'," Optimus said, almost embarrassed. Rodimus had his train of thought cut short simply by how weird it was to see that emotion on him. "We're simply a crew of space-bridge technicians."

Rodimus couldn't hide his astonishment, and he wasn't the only one. Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Prowl, Bulkhead... not warriors but support staff? That couldn't be right!

"Please tell me you're joking," alt-Megatron growled. "Please tell me my Decepticon forces weren't stymied for so long by a simple band of spacebridge technicians?"

"Hey, you kidnapped me just to work on a spacebridge," Bulkhead said, offended. "Why would I know how to do that if I was in an Elite Guard unit?"

"The tactical value of the spacebridge network is immense," alt-Megatron said. "It would not be unreasonable for an Elite Guard unit to include a mech who is able to make sure that advantage remains with the Autobots."

"You think I have Elite Guard potential?" Bulkhead asked, puffing up his chestplates. "I mean, not that I want to be in the Elite Guard but if I did I bet they'd listen to a reference from..."

" From the leader of our enemies?" Ratchet said wryly, before addressing the wounded Megatron again. "Sorry to disappoint you and your honour. Must smart, knowing you were so pathetic  _ we _ were able to defeat you."

"Wait, wait, look," Rodimus said. He had some questions of his own that really needed answers. "It's deeply weird that you guys are technicians in this universe but okay, I can get on board with that, whatever. But Optimus, in that case why are you with them?"

Optimus stiffened. Rodimus only just managed not to wince. Prime was never what you could call a relaxed bot, but when he got even more straight-strutted like that it usually meant you were due a dressing down in that horrible 'I'm not mad I'm just disappointed' way. "Why wouldn't I be with them?" Optimus asked him. There was an edge of... something underneath that tone, but Roddy couldn't guess what. "They're my crew and I'm their Prime."

"Yeah, yeah, responsibility to all of us, sure," Rodimus said. "But that's what I mean. What about your responsibilities to the rest of Cybertron?"

That made Optimus frown, along with the rest of his crew as well. "What responsibilities?" he asked. "I don't know what kind of gossip you and your friends might have heard wherever you're from, but Ultra Magnus made my place in the world very clear. It's here, with them - and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"To clarify," Ultra Magnus said, "In this universe you are not the leader of the Autobots?"

More astonished looks shooting back and forth. Jumping into another universe was even more processor-melting than Rodimus had imagined in his wildest daydreams. "Of course I'm not," Optimus said slowly. "I'm just a Prime. Our leader is Ultra Magnus." Turning to Ratchet he said, "You know I'm starting to believe that alternate universe claim of theirs."

\----

If Sari hadn't been quite her usual chatty self today it just showed she was really taking this seriously. People's lives were at stake, human and mechanical. She knew she could be enough of a help that she had persuaded her friends to take her along and she wasn't going to jeopardise that by mouthing off at the wrong time and distracting them from something really important.

How weird this day was turning out to be kind of helped. Strange enemy bots on the moon - or maybe not enemy bots. Maybe the kind of sometimes-helpful sometimes-not bots Wreck-gar or the Dinobots had been. She had so many questions about what was going on, but for once she wasn't the only one. She didn't have to be the ignorant child pestering her friends about things they had known since they were babies.

Or protoforms, she guessed. That was what they had instead of babies.

For once Sari could sit back and let other people ask. Doing that was kind of interesting actually. You picked up things that you maybe wouldn't if you were actually part of the conversation. Like how Ratchet and her mechs seemed to be coming from an entirely different context than the new warframes. Warframes. That was an interesting term too. Mostly Sari had been too worried about giant aliens trying to destroy Detroit to think much about why they were all so much bigger than the Autobots. She supposed she had assumed the Decepticons had civilians too back wherever they came from... wherever they had gone after Cybertron. She didn't even know where their enemies came from! Why hadn't she asked about that?

If warframes were soldiers, were just automatically Decepticons - because that was what Ratchet had assumed and he was the old, wise one who ought to know about things like that - how on earth had that happened? Was this like, a Skynet situation except both sides were robots?

Anyway the newcomers hadn't acted like they expected to be shot at. It seemed like they thought the Autobots should be on their side, even called themselves Autobots. They even kept looking at Optimus and Ratchet and the others like they expected them to be bigger. Ratchet might not believe the story about being from an alternate universe but Sari sure did. After everything that had happened in her life so far from the Autobots and the Allspark to finding out she had been an alien robot herself the whole time, was this really so strange?

What was it like where they were from? Did they have an alternate Earth? Did they know an alternate Sari? That would be so cool. Meeting herself would be awesome.

"Let's get Megatron back to the cells on board Omega Supreme with his other buddies," Ratchet said, gesturing to the mech currently almost hanging off the new guys. He ought to be a lot less frightening now with half his plating blasted off except... he still seemed so confident that Sari just knew he was up to something! Although the other... the one who also called himself Megatron... Sari winced, suddenly thinking about that properly for more than half a second. If they were from an alternate dimension then that meant he really was Megatron! Only he had an Autobot symbol on his chest, red showing up obvious against silver-grey.

No, focus Sari. The other Megatron had said... that their Megatron was trying to provoke them. And... she was just going to call them good-Megatron and evil-Megatron in her head. Yes, that was easier. Evil-Megatron hadn't denied it, and had basically implied he would rather they killed him right here and now rather than go back to whatever was waiting for him on Cybertron.

Yeah, she really didn't like the sound of that.

Evil-Megatron said, "If you want me to go anywhere it appears you will have to carry me."

"I guess we will," Rodimus said. "Ultra Magnus and Megatron can take your arms, and I'll take your legs."

Evil-Megatron's eyes went all squinty and confused. "Are those nicknames meant to be mockery?" he asked.

"Nope," Rodimus said, grinning as he hefted evil-Megatron off the ground with help from the others. "Alternate universe, it's a whole thing. I'll leave you to work out the implications by the way."

They all made a strange parade marching through the wrecked streets of Detroit back to Omega. Sari reactivated her jetpack so she could keep up - even carrying someone, the warframes' size meant they had a big stride and unlike her friends they didn't bother to slow down so she could keep up. She jetted up to hover near Optimus' head. His little head-fins were tilted backwards unhappily, and he was leaning on Ratchet more than she liked.

"I want to hear all about the battle by the way," she told him. "When we have time I mean. It sounds like it must have been..." She bit back the word 'amazing' before it came out on automatic. Prowl was dead. She glanced back to where Jazz was tailing after them, Prowl still and grey in his arms. It still didn't seem quite real yet. She didn't know what she felt about it, aside from numb. 'Amazing' was  _ so _ not the word to use. "... difficult." That sounded awkward, but not actively disrespectful.

Optimus nodded, but she could tell not all of his attention was on her. "I'll give you all a report as soon as Ratchet lets me out of medbay," he said. "I'll need reports from Jazz and from all of you as well, of course." He glanced over at Arcee. She hadn't said much since they had come down to Earth. That was understandable, Sari thought. It couldn't be easy to recover from having your mind taken apart and put back together again.

"Yeah, a lot happened," Sari said. There was a long silence. After a while she said, "It seems like I'm missing a lot of context about war history and stuff."

"Not a subject anyone was eager to talk about," Ratchet said. "I for one hoped it would never come up."

"It looks like we're going to have to fill the newcomers in about it as well," Optimus said, "so we might as well tell you all. Your history is Cybertronian; you have as much right as any to know about it too."

Yeah, apparently she had been a protoform with nothing but a human to pattern itself off of. The news had come so fast, and with so much else happening as well that she hadn't really questioned where she had even come from in the first place. There had been protoforms on the moon. Inside a Decepticon warship.

"Ratchet...?" she asked, not sure if she wanted him to answer or not. "There were a lot of protoforms up there... Am I a Decepticon?"

"No, no!" Ratchet replied quickly. "I'm almost certain those protoforms were the ones Lockdown stole from Yoketron - that happened not long before Prowl joined us and we encountered the Decepticon ship. The timing is right and the Decepticons don't have any way of getting fresh protoforms. They only grow on Cybertron itself."

Okay, that made sense. Sari felt the wave of relief flood over her. It came so quick on the heels of her fear that it left her feeling dizzy and off-balance. Although... "Are protoforms the only way you can get new Cybertronians?" she asked.

"In essence," Ratchet replied. "Protoforms are spun into existence by Vector Sigma, deep within the planet. We construct a form for the protoform to mould to; exterior armour, tools, weapons systems, some of our interior organs... then the protoform takes it over. That form dictates their function in life, but some mechs have what we call Sigma abilities; things they can do which are unique to them alone. Those abilities come solely from the protoform."

There was a loud growl from behind them, like someone revving an engine. Sari twisted in the air, trying to work out where it had come from. Ratchet had turned too and was glaring at good-Megatron. "Do you have something to say?" Ratchet asked.

"Things work slightly differently where we come from," good-Megatron replied. The engine noise had sounded super-angry, but his voice didn't. "What you're describing seems similar to what we call 'cold-construction', but there are other methods of reproduction." He paused, cocked his head slightly. "Do mechs ever try and go into work outside of that dictated by their form?"

Ratchet snorted unhappily. "Yeah, we tried that for a bit. Didn't go so well."

Good-Megatron looked thoughtful. "Tell me, do you have Functionalists here?"

"Not sure what you mean by that," Ratchet said.

Good-Megatron nodded. He didn't look surprised. "In a world that seems their paradise, what need for them?" he said. Well that was just unnecessarily cryptic.

"I don't much care if you disapprove of us," Ratchet said, "unless you make yourself a threat. If you do that just consider the fate of the warframes we've taken on so far and think again."

"I'm trying to avoid violent methods these days," good-Megatron replied. He looked kind of... really intense. Sari felt a bit nervous even turning her back on him, but she wasn't going to show that she was scared. She wasn't scared anyway. He was wearing an Autobot symbol just like his friends.

She distracted herself by talking to Ratchet again. "So, if you normally build a frame for the protoforms to go into, am I like... a naked protoform or something?"

Ratchet actually stumbled at that question, which jarred Optimus slightly making him let out a soft grunt. Oops. She hadn't thought he'd react like that, although it was a pretty weird mental image to have. "I... none of us had been thinking of it like that," he said. "You obviously picked up something from the organics to cover the protometal; you look like a human and you register like one to surface scans. It may be more a kind of alt-mode than a traditional frame. I wouldn't know enough to tell."

"But you're a doctor?"

"Yes, I'm a doctor not a scientist," Ratchet complained, then looked at her suspiciously when she giggled.

"Oh, that's like a quote from this ancient show my Dad likes," she explained. "So if you wanted to know more would you have to go look it up in some kind of Cybertronian database?"

"I don't think there have been any cases like yours in the past," Ratchet said, "I would have to do some tests and that's a little outside my remit."

Rodimus cut in. "Oh, we have a scientist," he said. "He's still on board our ship, the Lost Light. We'll need to go to our ship after this anyway, see if we can work out how to get back where we belong. And pick up the Rodpod on the moon on the way. You guys would be welcome to tag along of course."

"What's a Rodpod?" Bumblebee asked, looking up at the warframe suspiciously.

"It's better not to know," Ultra Magnus said. The big warframe only looked a bit like the Ultra Magnus she'd met briefly, Sari thought. The face and the colours were fairly right, but he had those big shoulder thingies - he was big all over!

"Now you've just made me more curious!" Bumblebee complained.

"It's a shuttle," good-Megatron said. "That's all you need to know about it."

"It's in the shape of my face!" Rodimus proclaimed proudly, to the withering looks of his friends.

"Aww, that's cool," Bumblebee said. Rodimus looked delighted.

"See," he said. "This bot gets it."

"Let me put a stop to this nonsense right now," Ratchet said. "I'm a pinch more inclined to believe your glitched story than I was a few hours ago, but that doesn't mean we're going to let you go gallivanting off to your ship much less follow you right into a potential trap."

"Anyone ever tell you you're paranoid?" Rodimus asked.

"Ratchet," Optimus said, in a chiding tone. "What have these bots done to deserve our suspicions? They've been nothing but helpful as far as I've seen."

"Yeah, exactly," Rodimus said. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, isn't that right Optimus."

"Uh, I suppose," Optimus replied, sounding confused. "That's a nice phrase. Where did it come from?"

Sari was watching closely. It was another of those 'stutter' moments where Rodimus and the other warframes were caught off guard by something that wasn't the way they were expecting. Yeah. Alternate universe. It had to be.

"Uh, from you," Rodimus said after a few moments. "Our version of you, I mean."

"The version of me who leads the Autobots?" Optimus asked. "That might be the thing about your universe I find the hardest to believe."

"No, you're really good at giving speeches," Rodimus said, quick to reassure.

"I meant... I find it hard to believe anyone would put me in charge," Optimus said. His mouth was a thin line, lips pressed tightly together.

"Hey, don't put yourself down Optimus," Sari told him. "You're a great leader!" She meant it too; Magnus must have been malfunctioning that day if he thought kicking Optimus out was the right thing to do. He deserved to be back in the Elite Guard like she could see he secretly wanted, and if his destiny was to lead the Autobots then that sounded just about right to her at least.

Optimus looked away. "I'm not a hero," he said. "That doesn't come naturally to me."

There were disbelieving snorts from all round.

"Come on Bossbot," Bulkhead said, "you really gonna try and say that after today? You fought Megatron!"

"Bulkhead is right," Ratchet agreed. "You've already proved yourself to all of us many times over but I had hoped today would prove it to yourself as well."

"Not a hero?" good-Megatron said. He looked partly skeptical, partly... Sari would have almost said upset, but that didn't seem right. None of the warframes looked very happy to hear Optimus putting himself down - see, more proof that they were good guys with more sense than some - aside from evil-Megatron who just looked curious. But duh, go figure.

They had made it back to Omega Supreme by this point. He was still in shuttle mode and it was good to hear the welcoming rumble of his voice when they entered through the airlock. Sari landed just so she could feel it vibrate up through her legs. It made her feel nice and protected.

"We need to go to my dad's tower first of all," she said. "He's going to be tearing his hair out worrying about me, and I'm not speaking metaphorically here. He needs to know that I'm alright."

"Take Megatron to the brig," Ratchet ordered the warframes. "Bulkhead, go with them and show them where it is. Keep an eye on them." Good-Megatron and Rodimus gave him some pretty epic side-eye, but went along with it, traipsing out with Bulkhead trotting behind giving directions loudly. Then he patted Omega's internal wall in a comforting gesture. "How are you doing my friend?"

"Still sore Ratchet," Omega said. "I tried to change again but it didn't work."

"Tch, I told you I had to make some repairs first," Ratchet said. "You up to another flight?"

"My engines are still more than functional."

Ratchet nodded. "We need to go to the tower anyway Sari," he told her. "That's where the spacebridge is."

"Yes," Optimus added, half-rousing from a stupor of tiredness he'd been drifting into. "We need to get Megatron back to Cybertron as soon as possible. If his army discovers that he's been captured they'll turn their attention to Earth."

"It's also where the Allspark shards are," Jazz said, sighing as he slid down the wall to sit with Prowl's body in his lap. "We can't go straight away though. There's ceremonies... mourning..." He wasn't looking at any of them.

"And repairs," Sari whispered to Ratchet. A silence had fallen which she didn't want to disturb.

Ratchet hung his head. "Yes," he admitted. "You're right. We can afford to take a little time, I guess.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is in the business of making friends; Rodimus makes a call.

With the Lost Light's engines running again Perceptor had returned to the bridge with Brainstorm in tow, and been pleased to find that whatever damage to the quantum circuitry their jump through reality had caused, it had left the ship's other systems alone. Lights, heating, power, communications and scanners were all back online. The first order of business naturally had been to find out who else might have come with them. Perceptor set a spark-scan running, and put out a call over ship-wide comms for everyone who heard it to assemble on the bridge.

The group who did so were all suspiciously familiar in a manner than Perceptor found very scientifically interesting. Whirl, Cyclonus, Tailgate, Chromedome, Rewind, and Rung - the last of whom had been so engrossed in putting together his models he hadn't even noticed anything had gone wrong until the comm-call. Save for Riptide, it was the very same crew who had taken the jump back in time to chase down Brainstorm. Besides that, Perceptor himself, Ultra Magnus and Megatron had all been controlling the operation from the other end. This had to mean something. It could not be coincidence.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Brainstorm asked him, from where he was currently hiding behind him. As he had intimated earlier, Cyclonus and Whirl did not look very friendly at present. Cyclonus never looked friendly, admittedly.

"Looks like the gang's all here," Whirl said, before Perceptor had a chance to reply. "Where the frag is everyone else on the ship though, and what has our favourite glitch-creator done now?"

"And what planet is that?" Tailgate asked, pointing out the viewscreen at Earth and its moon gleaming in the darkness of space below them. "It's so colourful."

Perceptor held up his servos. "Everyone, allow me to explain," he said. "Due to an incident during disposal of Brainstorm's time machine, we seem to have been transported to the Sol System, and are currently in orbit above the planet Earth. Only some of the crew have come with us - that is, yourselves. Rodimus, Megatron and Ultra Magnus have all gone on a scouting mission to find out more."

There was a long, stunned silence.

"So," Rewind said after a while. "Not technically Brainstorm's fault this time."

"I specifically said that they shouldn't do what they did," Brainstorm added 'helpfully'. He still hadn't come out of hiding, not that all of him fit behind Perceptor's back anyway.

"I've always wanted to visit Earth," Whirl said, clicking his pincers in a manner clearly intended to be menacing. "I hear the organics there are very interesting. Like that pet Earthling Magnus had, the one he claims stood up to Overlord."

"At the moment no-one will be leaving the ship until the away-team gets back with information," Perceptor said. "We have no idea about what else the explosion might have done. This isn't a sight-seeing trip."

"Pity," Whirl muttered.

"Is there anything that any of us can do to help?" Rung asked. "I'm not much of a scientist, but..."

"No, Brainstorm and I will focus on that," Perceptor replied. "Everyone else, just... stay alert. Rodimus and the others have been gone for a while now, and it's always possible we may be needed to go and help them out."

"Now  _ that _ I like the sound of," Whirl said.

\----

Megatron had only been in this universe for a short time, but he was liking it less and less. It had started from the very beginning when the diminutive Autobots insisted that because of their frametypes he, Rodimus and Magnus must be Decepticons. He could have understood it if they were making an assumption about Megatron himself based on the obvious similarities to his alternate. Yet it hadn't been only him but the others as well. The implications were concerning, stinking of Functionalist rhetoric as they were. His concerns had only increased after the fight against Lugnut and the other Decepticon. These Decepticons had been rebelling against  _ something _ , but what?

When he had started their own war there had been a purpose to it, a cause for which he had reckoned the shedding of energon justified. The horrors of shadowplay, the tenets of Functionalism, oppression, starvation, poverty, the punishment of protest and dissent... He had not been wrong to start the fight. It was simply that somewhere along the way... it had all started to go wrong. He had spent a lot of time thinking about when that moment had been. The moment when he should have pulled back. The moment he went too far.

It was too hard to tease it out amongst everything else. In the end he had been forced to admit it had been when he first picked up his cannon and made that foolish vow. It was the vow that was the problem, that more than the simple call to violence. He had been too angry to consider that there could ever come a time that compromise could be a possibility, a legitimate answer. That most of his followers would not actually understand what he meant by 'Peace through Tyranny'. All he had seen was the Senate and the System. When that had died it had seemed that the Autobots were rising to take its place, to rebuild what had been destroyed. They had already been trying to defend the indefensible. Talking to them... it had never even occurred to him.

He should have made more of an effort with Orion. If he had unbent enough to consider genuine compromise before they gave him the Matrix... Or even afterwards... Yet the fire of injustice in his fuel-lines had been too raw back then. Compromise was the same as bending the knee to the Senate.

There was no Orion Pax in this universe. There was only an Optimus Prime who wasn't anything he should have been. A too-humble, self-deprecating, emotionally wounded mech who bore none of the weight of four million years of war on his shoulders. Megatron doubted he had even been alive when his alternate had started the Decepticon faction here. So if that was different, what else was different also?

The capture of the alternate Megatron had started those doubts and worries up again. Here the Senate still existed, as did the corrupt Elite Guard. His alternate had attempted to provoke his captors into anger enough to kill him rather than face being taken back to Cybertron and whatever punishment awaited him there. Ratchet had described a society held even more tightly to the Functionalist ideals than their own had been. That had implications for those they classed as 'warframes' which Megatron did not like in the slightest.

He needed to know more. He needed to hear both sides of the story of the war. He needed to find out what his alternate feared. He needed to do all this without raising the Autobots' suspicions.

The damaged Omega Supreme had flown them a short distance over the human city to a tall and architecturally suspect tower which appeared to be protected by a kind of energy shield. Omega had settled himself down on the flattened top of the tower, not far from a forked structure that was apparently a spacebridge generator, although it looked very different to the ones of their own world. The creature that apparently was not in fact a human had left the ship on her own business, but the Autobots had remained on board. Ratchet had Optimus in the medbay along with an uncharacteristically gentle version of Arcee, and the others were taking turns guarding the defeated Decepticons. This was somewhat inconvenient for Megatron's plans.

Who better to ask about this reality than his own counterpart? He knew himself well enough to know the signs of his own deceptions; if there were to be lies they would be ones he should detect. However even if he made it past the Autobot guards, they were inside the body of Omega Supreme. There was no place that was not watched. In this world he could not assume his alternate spoke Hand as he did.

If he could not get the Decepticon side of the story, then perhaps he could at least learn more about these strange civilian Autobots who freely admitted they were technicians rather than soldiers. What did their soldiers look like? What did their Cybertron look like? What had happened to Optimus Prime in the past that made him think so little of himself?

Yes, that last was a question that demanded an answer. It was still throwing up error messages in his systems - he simply could not accept an Optimus that was like this. It was... unnatural. Someone or something had broken his spirit and Megatron needed to know what that was.

The big Autobot was on guard at the moment - although Bulkhead here was big only by their standards. The kibble arching up over his shoulders gave him the additional height to reach just below Megatron's shoulders. If not for his construction alt-mode and thin civilian plating, Megatron imagined he might have counted as a warbuild. Was he treated differently to his comrades? Did the fear and hate rub off on him, find him a safe target?

"Oh, hey," Bulkhead said, as Megatron approached. "You looking for your friends? I haven't seen 'em."

"I'm simply looking for conversation," Megatron replied. "I'm very curious about this reality, as I am sure you are curious about ours."

"Mostly I just find it weird," Bulkhead said, rubbing the back of his head with a servo. "And I'm not much of a conversationalist. Sorry."

"There's no need to put yourself down like that," Megatron chided. "Or did I hear incorrectly; you built a spacebridge for Megatron?"

"Yeah, maybe not my proudest moment."

"And why not?"

"It was helping the enemy," Bulkhead said. "I coulda made it so it malfunctioned easy. But no-one aside from Megatron thought I could do it, so I built it properly just to prove them wrong. I guess it all worked out in the end, but no thanks to me."

"I don't know much about spacebridge technology," Megatron lied, leaning casually against the wall. "Building one from scratch on a backwards planet such as this one seems like a great accomplishment to me." That much was not a lie. He might not have been the expert Shockwave had been, but given the wormholes whose connections still laced his internals it would have been foolish not to teach himself about the technology. It was not something just any bot could master. Bulkhead was much more intelligent than others apparently gave him credit for.

"Aww shucks, that's nice of you to say," Bulkhead said, embarrassment subroutines clearly running full blast. "It's really not that big a deal though. Back where I grew up I had a lot of time on my servos and not much to do. I read a lot about spacebridges - I always thought they were really neat."

"Where did you grow up?"

"An energon farm on Beta IV. Busy sometimes, but y'know, long periods of frag-all to do."

The planet's name was not one with which Megatron was familiar, either as one of the previously-lost colonies or from the war. "Tell me more?" he asked.

"Ah, you know, it was just a planet. Used to be covered in organic life back when it was colonised during the Golden Age, but that got used up vorns ago." He held up his servos. "Not organic life like, Earth life," he added. "Not sentients. Trees and plants mostly. That's what got farmed into energon first of all, then when it was gone the harvesters were transitioned over to solar. All I really did was fill up cubes when the tanks got full and do maintenance." He paused. "And read datapads."

"That sounds... very interesting," Megatron said. It sounded very Decepticon. It wasn't quite Cyberforming a planet as he had orchestrated on many occasions as part of the expanding Decepticon Empire, but the essential concept was certainly there. The Autobots he knew had been on the other side of the conflict, trying to defend weak organic life that ought to be ground under-pede if it could not defend itself.

Ah, no. That was the old self talking. Organics were... potential dangers to mechanical life forms, but the trouble gained by pre-emptive strikes outweighed the benefits of attempting to destroy them. They were more trouble than they were worth, as Earth had proved. He still did not agree with the creed of Prime that put their lives at the same value as those of Cybertronians, but he had to pay it at least lip service if he wanted to keep his badge.

"You really think it's interesting?" Bulkhead laughed. "You must be the only bot who's ever said that."

"You taught yourself to build a spacebridge in your spare time," Megatron said. "An impressive feat. That makes you interesting."

"Thanks. That means a lot."

"What made you leave the farming life?"

"I guess you could call it ambition," Bulkhead said. "Or boredom. Life wasn't bad, it just... I felt I needed something more. Like I was meant for something more, y'know?"

Megatron nodded. "I do know," he said softly. He had been framed as a miner and the work itself had not troubled him. It had been physically taxing and repetitive, but in a way the exhaustion of his frame had left his mind free to wander and roam. He too had yearned for more than what he had, more than what he was told he should be. Bulkhead had been aware of his own potential, the intelligence that teaching himself proved he had. Megatron had taught himself to read and write first of all, but his forays into science and technology had come much, much later. This mech had jumped into that from the very beginning. Oddly, it reminded him of Starscream although in all other ways the two were nothing alike. Starscream had pushed out of the intended restrictions of his cold-constructed, mass-produced frametype and into the harsh, sterile world of the Science Academy driven by his own ambition and purpose. Of course he had ruined it for himself, because that was Starscream's nature...

Bulkhead looked somewhat taken aback by his statement. "I wouldn't think a bot like you would get it," he said, "not that I'm saying you don't, just... you're a warframe."

"Why should that mean I cannot dream of something more?" Megatron asked. "Besides which, I did not begin this way. I have had many different frames over the vorns, but my first was that of a miner."

"That's different to here," Bulkhead said. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the cells which held their Decepticon prisoners. "I think our Megatron was constructed a warframe. Actually uh... I wanted to ask about that. Where you come from, you're an Autobot right? So that means things went  _ really _ differently to here."

There was a topic Megatron had no intention of talking about in any detail. These Autobots barely trusted them as it was - that meagre trust would shatter the moment they heard of everything he had done. He would be in a cell right next to his counterpart and no doubt the rest of the Lost Light's crew would be tarred with the same brush.

"I believe many things about this reality are different to my own," he said.

"No Decepticon rebellion?" Bulkhead said hopefully. "No, wait, you guys said there had been a war but it was over. I guess it could have been with aliens, like back in the Golden Age."

"Why call it the Golden Age if you were at war?"

Bulkhead shrugged. "Well I guess it was mostly golden for the bots back on Cybertron. I don't read a lot of history, or watch a lot of docudramas, but I know it was called the Age of Expansion too."

"An age of a Cybertronian Empire," Megatron said softly. "The nature of Cybertronians is the same wherever in the multiverse we are."

"Everyone was happy back then," Bulkhead said. "That's what they say."

Megatron snorted. "I doubt that very much," he said. "Not everything written down or recorded can be trusted. A pity it seems long enough ago that none now live who remember it."

"I bet Alpha Trion would," Bulkhead said. "Or you could just ask our Megatron if you could trust anything he told you."

"My alternate was alive during this 'Golden Age'?"

"That's what I heard. He was in our armies, before the whole rebellion thing."

"That is very interesting," Megatron said. Further proof he would not find the truth of whatever corruption and rot lurked at the heart of this society until he spoke to his counterpart - if only anybot would permit him. "I wonder if it would be possible to tease the truth out from the lies."

"I doubt it," Bulkhead said. "Anyway, no-one's allowed to talk to the prisoners. Ratchet said."

That was because Ratchet was a wary, intelligent, wisely paranoid bot who knew the value of propaganda. It was difficult for even Megatron's tactical programming to assess the full extent to which this Ratchet shared the personality traits of the one he knew, but he had difficulty imagining any version of the medic as corrupt. However Ratchet had seen the dark side of the Cybertron the Senate had produced and he had still believed in the lie of peaceful change. He should have joined the Decepticons, but Optimus had dripped the honey of his daydreams into Ratchet's audials and dyed him Autobot red down to the protometal. Was this one the same? Aware of the evil that could not be denied but unwilling to take a stand against it?

It was too early yet to talk to Ratchet. There would be no profit in it until enough time had passed that the medic's guard began to fall and there was some small measure of trust between them. It might serve him better to approach one who was more inclined to be trusting; this version of Optimus seemed the most obvious candidate.

He would just have to take care to control his own reactions to this strange mirror of his oldest enemy.

\----

"Look, I need to comm my ship," Rodimus said impatiently. Hadn't he made his point totally clear by now? "They're gonna get antsy if they don't hear from us soon."

"Ratchet said not to let you," alternate Bumblebee said, shielding Omega Supreme's comm console with his body. "Not until he and Bossbot are out of surgery!"

"What does he think I'm going to do?" Rodimus complained. He was so much taller than the minibot it wouldn't have been that hard to reach past him to get at the buttons, or even just pick him up and move him out of the way, but he was trying to give a good impression here and not act like an aft.

"I don't know!" Bee said, not moving. "Maybe your ship is secretly full of evil warframes ready to invade Earth. Or scraplets! Or cosmic rust!"

"It's not full of any of those things," Rodimus said. If they'd still been on the moon he could just have used his own communicator, but they were too far away from the Lost Light now for the signal to make it without something to boost it.

The flooring under his pedes rumbled as Omega spoke. "I will not allow you to use my systems until Ratchet says so."

There wasn't anything for Roddy to scowl at in particular, so he just glared at a random spot on the wall. "Why is Ratchet in charge of everything round here anyway?" he asked. "I thought Optimus was your commander." Even if it was this weird Optimus who let people call him 'Bossbot'. The real Optimus would never have let anyone be that informal with him, because he had been forged without a sense of humour or fun. He and Magnus were alike that way.

"Yeah, Optimus is our Prime," Bumblebee said. "But you saw how bad he got hurt. Ratchet fought in the Civil War so he knows what he's doing. Why wouldn't we do what he asks until Bossbot gets better?"

"Optimus didn't think we were bad guys though," Rodimus said.  _ Unlike Ratchet, _ he thought to himself. "So why can't I just let my friends know we're okay? If he's the Prime, surely you should trust his judgement?"

"Of course I trust Optimus!" Bee said, plating bristling. "You're just trying to turn us against Ratchet!"

"Nuh uh!" Rodimus objected. "Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!" Bumblebee ex-vented hard, and pointed at the door. "I'm not going to let you use the console and neither is Omega so how about you just butt out!"

"Fine," Rodimus said. "I will then." He strode out of the bridge, fuming. There had to be somewhere else around here with decent communications equipment. Back when he'd been on Earth last the humans hadn't been completely useless when it came to technology, and here they were parked on top of a human building. No-one had actually told him he wasn't allowed to leave Omega Supreme. Before he went into the medbay Optimus had been keen to stress none of them were prisoners, but this wasn't how you treated guests in Rodimus' opinion.

The exit hatch was right over there. No-one was around to stop him going out of it. Rodimus went over and punched the button to open it, harder than he'd meant to. There was a meaningful delay before the internal airlock door slid open. Roddy could almost feel Omega's attention crawling over his plating.

"I am watching you," the big bot said in a quiet rumble that was probably meant to be a whisper.

"Watch away," Rodimus replied. "You won't see anything."

Stepping out into the open air he was immediately met by a strong crosswind. It was enough to make him pause and get his bearings but it wasn't a real danger. They were pretty high up here, particularly for human standards. Omega had parked himself on the edge of a large square platform with a short lip around the edges of it. Most of the space was taken up by the massive prongs of some kind of machine that arced up far overhead. At the foot of one of the prongs was a human-sized console that looked like it was hooked up to the machine.

So this was what a spacebridge looked like in this dimension. Seemed unnecessarily big. Maybe a lot of their ships couldn't quantum jump at all and needed space bridges to get around? Even then, this thing was about the same size as Omega Supreme when he was in root mode. Too big for regular bots and too small for reasonably sized ships.

Who cared about how practical it was anyway! What mattered was whether he could use it to boost the signal of his communicator.

Rodimus looked around. He was alone, if you didn't count Omega Supreme. He was stuck in altmode though, so what was he going to do about it if he even recognised what Rodimus was trying to do in the first place? Roddy went over to the small control hub and knelt down to get a better look. Lots of buttons far too tiny for his fingers, which wasn't very helpful. A port hookup, which was. Rodimus carefully reached between his abdominal plating to unspool a cable. He couldn't help the memory of Ratchet's voice jumping into his head;  _ 'Never interface with an unfamiliar system! That's how you get viruses. Don't come crying to me when you've deleted half your memory core! _ '

Pft, sure, but this was something humans built. Like Pit it was going to have anything on it capable of infecting his systems. His antivirals would eat them for breakfast.

He reached out for the port, the end of his cable running through minor transformations until it found a configuration that would sync up properly. The little jolt of energy when he made the connection pulsed through his systems and made him shiver a little. There wasn't any kind of intent behind it though, not even the sterile programmed kind. When he reached his systems out there wasn't anything there in the human computer, not even the most primitive AI. Yeah, so scary. He should  _ really _ be worried about viruses from something as basic as this. It was like hardlining a datapad, for Primus' sake.

Rodimus flicked through programs, searching for something that looked useful. It might have been easier with an AI, at least one that wasn't smart enough to refuse to be helpful. After half a klik though he came across a communications subroutine for the bridge. Just what he needed. He was just about to pull out his communicator when someone reset their vocaliser behind him.

"Hey big guy, what're you doing?"

Rodimus half-turned to see two humans looking up at him. Wait, correction, one was the techno-organic creature that had supposedly been made out of a protoform, or something like that. The other organic looked older, from what he could tell from his own experience on this planet, stockier with a thick plume of soft fibres on its head and face - yeah, hair, that was what it was called.

They had asked him a question. Roddy tried to come up with a good excuse but his processor stalled out on him. "I'm... on the phone," he said. Wow. Well fragging done.

"Yeah?" the techno-organic said. They had used a name for it, what was it? It took a few astroseconds. Sari, that was it. "Looks to me like you're tentacle deep in our spacebridge."

Rodimus looked down at the cable connecting him to the terminal and back at them. 'No I'm not' probably wouldn't cut it. "Yeah, I... needed it," he said instead. "To make a call."

"So you're not trying to hack our spacebridge for nefarious purposes then?" Sari asked.

"Sari, are you sure we should be antagonising him?" the other human said quietly. "We should call for the Autobots."

"No, no I'm harmless," Rodimus said quickly. He grabbed his communicator out of subspace and held it up. "Look, a phone. You can even watch me make the call, that's like totally fine with me."

"Yeah?" Sari said, sounding deeply suspicious. Understandable. "I guess that would be okay. But if I see anything weird I'm calling for Bulkhead."

Rodimus pushed down the urge to point out that from his perspective none of the Autobots on their own were very scary, but only just. He pinged the console to activate the program he'd been looking at, and ran his signal to the Lost Light through it. He must have been right that they'd been worrying about him because the call was picked up almost immediately. Slightly less good was the fact that the console had a video call function, which meant his two observers got a nice wide view of the entire bridge. It looked like Percy had managed to find a few more bots on board.

"Rodimus," Perceptor said. "I was beginning to grow concerned. Have you managed to find anything out about the effects of Brainstorm's device exploding?"

"Oh Percy, you're going to get such a kick out of this," Rodimus said. "I'm pretty sure we're in an alternate universe."

Perceptor's visible optic widened. "Then I was correct," he said. "The paradox prevention device did make it possible for such universes to exist. I suppose there is some validity in assuming that a machine designed to distort time would also be capable of distorting space to such a degree..."

"You can give us all the big explanation later," Rodimus said, keen to cut in before Perceptor really built up a head of steam. His processor always started to go fuzzy when Percy started to use big words anyway. "We're down on Earth right now and we've met some of the locals. Do you have video on your end? Got a human and a techno-organic letting me boost my signal off some of their stuff." Given that both Cyclonus and Whirl were visible in the background he was kind of hoping the pair weren't paying too close attention to the rest of the bridge. If they were this mistrustful of Rodimus and Ultra Magnus they were  _ not _ going to be down with an ex-Wrecker and a guy with a giant sword.

"I am receiving audio only," Percy said. "Pass on my greetings to the Earthlings however."

"Is that some of your crew up there?" Sari asked, coming closer to get a better look at the screen. "There's more of you guys than I thought there'd be. Is your Captain really called Percy?"

"Hey, Perceptor isn't the Captain," Rodimus said. " _ I'm _ the Captain." Honesty compelled him to add. "Well, Co-Captain."

"How can you have Co-Captains?" Sari asked. "Doesn't someone need to be in charge to give the orders?"

"It wasn't my idea," Rodimus replied. "We kind of do shifts anyway."

"So who's the other Captain? Oh, I bet it's Ultra Magnus."

"I wish," Rodimus said, ex-venting. "It's Megatron."

The old human let out a noise that was basically a squeak. "No, it's okay Dad," Sari said. "It's like I said, there's good-Megatron and evil-Megatron now that these guys turned up from like, some whole other universe, which is super cool. He's talking about good-Megatron."

Not how Rodimus would have described him but, sure. He turned his attention back to Perceptor. "So now you know what's happened, how quickly can you get us back to our own universe?" he asked.

"Simply telling me we are in an alternate universe doesn't mean I 'know what happened'," Perceptor said. "I need to discuss this with Brainstorm and we are going to need time to create a device that can reverse the effect. I have no idea how long that will take. This is something that has never been recorded in the history of science!"

"We're stuck here?" Rodimus asked, feeling his optimism start to shrivel up. "Is that what you're saying?"

"In essence," Perceptor replied. "I can begin work as soon as possible, since the repairs to the ship are completed. Will you be returning any time soon?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Rodimus said. "Could you send someone to pick up the Rodpod though? I left it on the moon."

"Would it be appropriate to bring the Lost Light to you?" Perceptor asked. "How do the humans feel about our race here?"

Sari shook her head emphatically. "After the Elite Guard ship came, we humans have only just started to get used to the idea of big robot aliens," she said. "Big robot aliens from another dimension might be too much."

"I agree," the human she'd called 'Dad' said.

"Stay up in orbit for now," Rodimus said to Perceptor. "We met some alternate universe Autobots and Decepticons down here too, so we need to see how that all shakes out. We might be able to come back up when they head off to Cybertron."

"We will await your orders," Percy said. Rodimus cut the connection.

"You guys satisfied?" he asked.

"I  _ guess _ ," Sari said. "But you better ask next time you want to make a call."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are always things to mourn; lost friends, lost friendships, lost ways, and lost time.

Optimus opened his optics with a groan. There was a haze of disconnect between his processor and his peripheral circuitry that made him feel off-balance, but it was better than the various aches and pains he'd been suffering from before. Ratchet was bending over him, but he backed off once he saw that Optimus was awake.

"How d'you feel?" Ratchet asked.

"Better," Optimus said, pushing himself upright. Ratchet hovered with a nearby servo but Optimus managed not to overbalance, though it was a near thing. There were thick lines of bare metal networking across his plating where Ratchet had reinforced and soldered cracks and breaks back together. Self-repair would take care of whatever hadn't needed his attention and the colour nanites would re-colonise the areas over the course of a few days. His systems had taken a beating though, and he was glad for whatever medical program Ratchet had uploaded that was blocking most of the pain signals. He could tell they were bad by the sensor-ghost of them that remained.

"Take it slow," Ratchet advised. "You've been under a good few hours."

"Thanks Ratchet," Optimus said, "but you don't have to tell me twice. I'll be good."

The two of them weren't alone in the medbay. Arcee was sitting on a chair by one of the sample analysis consoles, her servos folded in her lap. He might have thought she was still in the blank state the Decepticons had left her in, if it wasn't for the troubled look in her optics. Jazz was here too, sitting next to a table where... Prowl lay, still and grey. Optimus reset his optics, trying to avoid showing a flare of emotion. There had barely been time to think about Prowl. About what he'd done for them all. Optimus didn't even know exactly _what_ he had done, except that it had cost him his life.

"Is everything... under control?" he asked Ratchet quietly. "Are we safe? Are the prisoners locked up? Is there anything I missed?"

"You haven't missed anything serious," Ratchet said reassuringly. "I had time to get Arcee caught up on what happened since Lockdown and the war - the major points anyway. The 'Cons are all locked away. That hotheaded warframe Rodimus had a bit of an argument with Bumblebee but Omega tells me he stomped off outside to sulk."

"Okay," Optimus took a few deep vents to cool his engine and help him think. "I didn't really think we would all still be around to think about this question but... what next?"

"I think you're the one that gets to decide that, hmm?" Ratchet said.

"I always appreciate your advice Ratchet." Optimus scrubbed a servo across his helm. The painkiller program left his processor feeling full of foam. "Let's start with Omega. You said he needs some repairs?"

"He can fly just fine but he's stuck in alt-mode," Ratchet said. "Self-repair can take care of it, it's not like back when we arrived on Earth. It's just inconvenient and not very pleasant for him either."

"If we need to warp back to Cybertron though..."

"We could just take the spacebridge," Ratchet said, "but yes, Omega could make the jump if need be. I'd rather use the bridge though. It draws power from Sumdac tower, rather than making Omega burn through his fuel tanks."

"Of course," Optimus said, feeling ashamed not to have thought of it. Most of them were getting by on human produced crude oil, which their systems were able to process into energon in an inefficient way. It wasn't great, but it was enough. Their needs were tiny however compared to a bot of Omega's size, and his systems were designed for a time when the best energon was dedicated to the war effort. Human oil might sustain him for a while, but it wouldn't be good for him.

Jazz reset his vocaliser. "Can we... talk about the funeral?" he asked quietly.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about the traditions of the cyberninja way," Optimus said. "You probably know better than we do what he would want." It was hard to make the words come out. His vocalisation programs kept throwing up little glitches that he had to force his way past. "I'm sorry, I'm not even sure if he left instructions..."

"Making a will isn't the first thing a bot thinks of when he joins a repair crew," Ratchet said gruffly. "Prowl never believed much in material possessions anyway. Yoketron's armour was the most significant thing he owned, and I think he would want it returned to the dojo if there's anyone left to receive it."

"Our traditions have fallen out of style since the end of the war," Jazz said. His voice sounded rough too. "Not much call for the spiritual these days. Not many bots ready to put in the discipline to learn. Maybe that'll change now the Decepticons are pushing back."

"But Megatron is our prisoner," Optimus objected. "Surely we can force them to surrender, draw up another treaty...?"

Ratchet shook his head, looking weary. "The only reason the Decepticons agreed to a treaty the first time around was because they wanted peace to look for the Allspark, or if not that then build some other decisive weapon. Even with the Omega Supremes we were barely holding our own. The Decepticons are built for war, whereas most of our Elite Guard active now have never faced a _real_ foe. If the Council puts a motion to execute him before the Senate, one of his Generals will just take over. Strika most likely. Maybe they could sell him back in return for a treaty, but can you really imagine anyone being willing to propose something like that?"

"We can worry about that when we get back to Cybertron," Optimus said, shaking his head. They had strayed off topic. "Right now, Prowl should be our priority. He deserves to have a send off worthy of the hero he was."

Jazz nodded. "I can... work something up," he said. "Something I reckon he'd like."

"Please," Optimus said. "I want... I wish it hadn't ended up this way."

"It was his choice," Jazz said. "We called up all the shards of the Allspark from anywhere near the city, but it wasn't quite enough. Prowl chose to give up his own spark to fill the gap." His head was bowed, almost brushing the table. "I thought we could find another way, but Prowl seemed like he knew it had'ta turn out like this. He was... at peace with it. With offlining for us all."

"We're going to honour that choice," Ratchet said. "And when we get back to Cybertron we'll make sure he gets the respect he deserves there too."

\----

Distractions. Distractions were good, Brainstorm thought to himself. He hadn't had to think too hard about failure since leaving his prison cell. He wasn't religious, didn't believe in Primus or the rest of the Guiding Hand or the Thirteen, but _something_ had given him a fascinating problem to solve even if it was just the random forces of chaos in the universe. Whatever the source he didn't care. It felt like a reprieve. A holiday even, before the reality of... well, reality came crashing down.

How different was this place? How similar? Was there another Brainstorm out there, another Perceptor? Another Quark?

Oh that was a dangerous thought. Would a different Quark still know him? Was he still alive here? Would he... perhaps, maybe, feel differently about a made-to-order lab assistant who had proved he was more that what he'd been constructed? Would that Quark have ties here? Would he want to be here, want to stay? What if... what if he might consider coming back with the _Lost Light_...

He was getting too far ahead of himself here. He shouldn't be thinking about that. What right did he have to steal somebot from their own world - or steal some other Quark away from whoever he might have here? There was no guarantee he would even be able to get the ship back home anyway. It wasn't going to be easy to calculate the effects of crude combustion on his time machine, and even once the calculations were complete who was to say they would be reversible? What about materials? It had taken him entire millennia of the war and afterwards to assemble the components he needed for the device.

At least Percy wasn't angry with him. Percy had been sympathetic even before they came here. He seemed willing to stand up for him against any of the crew if they decided to make something out of the whole Decepticon thing. Speaking of which...

Brainstorm sidled into the almost empty bar. Without Swerve here to chatter away at the slightest hint of a customer the room seemed to loom like an echoing void. He was too used to seeing it full of crewmembers - it felt wrong like this. The other occupant of the room looked up at the sound of pedes hitting metal, still playing with the half-full glass of engex he must have poured for himself.

"Hi," Tailgate said, sounding morose. "Did you come to get a drink too?"

Brainstorm slid into the seat next to him. It wasn't accurate to say that Tailgate and Cyclonus spent all of their time together, but it still hadn't been easy trying to catch the little guy alone. He didn't exactly trust how Cyclonus would react yet. Logically he wasn't an Autobot, hadn't really been involved in the grinding years of the war, shouldn't have a good reason to care that Brainstorm had been lying to everyone. He also had that pesky sense of honour though. The lying itself might have been enough to piss him off. Plus, since the business with Tyrest he was skewing more to the friends side of the frenemies scale with Whirl.

And people were bound to be angry about what the quantum-copy Brainstorm had done on the quantum-copy _Lost Light_. With the DJD and everything.

Were there alternate reality DJD here?

"Swerve dilutes the engex too much for my taste," Brainstorm said, shaking out of his train of thought to answer Tailgate's question. "But if that's all that's on offer I'll take it."

Tailgate reached over the bar and fished a glass out from underneath, standing on his own chair to do it. He pushed it over to Brainstorm. "Help yourself."

Brainstorm climbed over the bar to get to the engex cylinders and deliberated for a few moments before choosing a flavour. "So... how angry is everyone?" he asked casually as he poured.

"I mean, I think it's cool to be in a different reality," Tailgate said, leaning on the bar. "Although I don't know how long I'd want to be stuck here. I don't think Whirl could care any less, and you know Cyclonus, you could rip his arm off and he wouldn't let on that it was bothering him."

Brainstorm went back to his seat. "I actually meant how angry are they about the... time travel thing," he said quietly. "And the Decepticon thing."

"Oh!" Tailgate looked thoughtful. "I... you know, when I first came on board Cyclonus told me why the Decepticons had started the war and I thought, wow, it sounds like they were right! He just... didn't mention all the bad stuff. I'm not sure if that's because he didn't care, or because he was testing me, or... I mean he hates it when people call him a Decepticon but I don't think it's because he hates Decepticons or anything like that. I think it's because of the oaths you swear when you become a Decepticon. He takes that sort of thing really seriously and doesn't like the implication he would break an oath like that."

That was... more information than Brainstorm had been expecting. Well, all data was good data, as they said. "So..." he said, "which would he dislike more? That I broke my Autobot oath to join the Decepticons, or the whole lying, double-agent thing?"

"I guess that does make things more complicated," Tailgate said. "I don't care about you switching sides anyway Brainstorm. And... the other me died on the other _Lost Light_ but... that wasn't really us, was it? Or it was us, but they made different choices and did different things so they weren't us anymore... I don't know. It's hard to think about that sort of thing. Why did other-you call the DJD up anyway? That's what I don't get."

Brainstorm tilted his glass, watching the engex swirl inside. He hadn't tried it yet, but the thought didn't appeal. "Other me made a stupid decision," he said. "Not sure why. Probably with the war over the DJD were checking who was still on their side. Seeing if I had turned traitor once again. I think other me thought if he gave them Overlord... If he hadn't, they would have come after him anyway, so the ship might have died either way."

"Huh. No, that does make sense." Tailgate ex-vented. "If we hadn't had the quantum doubles, that would have been us. Or... it was us?" He clicked his mask open long enough to take a deep sip of engex through the curly straw he'd found somewhere. "I don't think the time-travel is that big of a deal though. I mean, it's not as though you were the only bot there who thought a future without the war had to be better. Rewind did too. But it we're talking being a traitor to the Decepticons, I think trying to kill Megatron probably counts."

"I don't think I've ever been loyal to a cause," Brainstorm said. "People, yes, but not a cause."

"I don't think I know what it's like to be loyal to anything," Tailgate told him. "I don't understand the factions thing. If I was going to be loyal to something though, it's this ship. This crew."

"So... you're okay with what I've done?"

"Yeah," Tailgate said, "and I don't think Cyclonus really cares that much. Whirl is... well, he really doesn't like Decepticons. So I don't know."

"What about Chromedome and Rewind?"

"Why haven't you just asked Chromedome yourself?" Tailgate asked. "I thought he was your best friend?"

Brainstorm couldn't meet his optics. "He is. Except he didn't know about any of this. Not the time machine. Not being a Decepticon double-agent. He trusted me and I lied to him for vorns. I can't imagine he'll still want anything to do with me."

"You don't know that though," Tailgate protested. "You won't know unless you talk to him."

"I know you and Rewind talk," Brainstorm said. "Has he mentioned if Chromedome has said anything..."

Tailgate shook his head. "No, but this is between him and you."

It was a logical statement. Brainstorm knew that. It didn't mean he was ready to act on it.

"We'll see," he said, muttering into his drink.

\----

They flew out to the wilderness for the funeral. Prowl had been fascinated by the nature of this organic planet, the many forms of its flora and fauna, and had spent most of his free time in contemplation of it. It was not the oneness with Cybertron that most cyberninja attempted to achieve on their home planet, but adaptation was at the heart of their species. It was the most fitting place Jazz could think of. He had found a cliff-face that cupped round a grassy clearing with the spray of a waterfall pouring down the centre of it into a pool below. Not the kind of sacred place he was familiar with, but it felt right.

It was tradition that a cyber-ninja gave their body up for others after they rejoined the Well of Allsparks. Some part of Jazz felt it was unfair that this was expected of Prowl when he had already given his spark itself in the service of his friends, but the rest of him knew this was simply what Prowl would have wanted. At the dojo there had been medics who also kept the faith, who still believed that Primus dwelt within Cybertron, who performed the necessary rites and removals of whatever was needed. Ratchet was an atheist, but he had been willing to make do.

Looking at the coffin that held what remained of his friend's frame, Jazz had a hard time keeping his composure. He had to keep it together though. He was the only one who could conduct the service, who knew the right words. Who could commend Prowl's soul to Primus and hope that it was heard on this world so far across the stars from the planet of their birth.

They had managed to refine enough energon to set a few lamps burning around the coffin. The flames guttered in the wind as he spoke. Not as many as Prowl deserved. Not as much as he had earned.

Jazz finished his speech, and gestured to the assembled mechs before him. "Who else wishes to share their memories of the fallen?" he asked them.

Optimus was the first to come forward, but everybody from Prowl's team had something they wanted to share. Only Arcee and the warframes kept back, and they had never had a chance to get to know him. Jazz stood and let the words wash over him, trying to keep the churn of his spark under control, trying not to let his optics flare with suppressed emotion. Prowl's spark had rejoined the Well; he was back with Primus, part of the oneness of all Cybertron. One day Prowl would be sparked back into a new frame, if Primus so willed it. It should not be a cause for sorrow.

The thought wasn't much comfort.

The ceremony should have ended with Prowl's frame cremated, melted down to an ingot that would be placed beneath his holopic in the Hall of Students at the dojo. They hadn't had the resources to do that here on Earth. Instead Bulkhead, Optimus, Ratchet and Jazz himself all carried the coffin over to Omega Supreme, who would keep it safe within his hold until they were back on Cybertron. Then, finally, Prowl's mortal remains would find the rest that they deserved.

\----

Rodimus waited a while after they all got back from the funeral to ask again about transportation back to the _Lost Light_. He wasn't a complete aft, after all. It had been a nice enough service, though he hadn't been familiar with the tradition. The energon lamps had been something like Spectralism, from what Drift had told him of their customs, but nothing else. If it had been their Prowl from back home, he doubted anyone would have cared enough to turn up for it, but this Prowl was different apparently. That much had been clear from the eulogies.

It was a pity the little guy was dead. Rodimus knew what it was like to lose comrades - everyone did. He could sympathise with them.

On the other hand, this wasn't his reality, and he was really keen to get back home. Now they knew what was going on it wasn't like there was any reason to stay here. They could work on a solution from the _Lost Light_ , just park near enough some star for the solar collectors to pump out enough energon to feed them and wait for the smart bots to come up with something.

He wasn't going to get anywhere asking Ratchet, that much was clear by now, so it would have to be Optimus. Prime was the one that was in charge anyway, now he was all fixed up. Once they'd returned to Sumdac tower Ratchet had gone back to the medbay to run diagnostics on the pink femme - who apparently was Arcee. Now _that_ was weird. Just like Prowl was a nice guy here, this version of Arcee seemed totally chill and not at all murderous. It was seriously creeping him out. Arcee was scary, not some... nice polite teacherbot! Roddy was glad when she was well away from him again.

He had intended to leave Magnus and Megatron to distract the other Autobots while he cornered Prime, but Optimus approached him before he could put his cunning plan into action.

"Thank you for attending the funeral," Optimus said, addressing the three of them. "I know you didn't know Prowl, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Honouring the death of a hero would never be a hardship," Magnus said. "Indeed we should be thanking you for permitting us to be there."

Optimus didn't quite meet his optics. "Now the ceremony is over, we were thinking about heading back to Cybertron. We need to make sure our prisoners see justice, and we need to report back to the Council and the Senate."

"Your prisoner seemed concerned about the form that justice might take," Megatron noted, looking displeased. Oh sure he stood up for his obviously still evil counterpart.

"I understand that it must be upsetting seeing a version of yourself who went so bad," Optimus said earnestly. "But please believe that he's no Autobot like you are. He's a warlord, a conqueror, a violent and deceitful bot who is sure to try and manipulate the situation to his advantage if he can. Like I said, I've been subject to Autobot justice myself in the past. There's nothing to fear from it unless you simply don't like to see justice done."

"Yeah, _Megatron_ ," Rodimus said, narrowing his optics at his co-Captain. "Listen to the bot when he tells you what a monster you are."

Megatron ignored that little dig. "I find it hard to imagine why a bot like yourself would have first-hand knowledge of Autobot justice as you describe," he said. Roddy was forced to agree with that. Even if this Optimus was way different to their own, he still had those same heroic tendencies. Who was going to give him the shaft for that?

"I was foolish," Optimus said. His tone was flat, emotion carefully suppressed. "I made a bad call when I should have known better. I paid the price for it."

"There's no need to tell us the details," Magnus said gently. "It isn't our business."

"I'm not the Optimus you know," Prime said. "Nothing like him, from how you describe him. You ought to be aware of that." He vented deeply, then seemed to shake himself out of his dark mood. "In any case, I meant to come over to ask you what your own plans are now."

"Go back to our ship," Rodimus replied, happy to have finally gotten around to the topic he'd wanted to talk about in the first place. "Find a way to get home. We don't want to get involved in everything that's going on with you guys and I bet you wouldn't want us sticking our nasal ridges in it anyway."

"I suppose that makes sense," Optimus said. "Although please don't let our initial wariness put you off staying if you would like to. I know Ratchet is still suspicious, but I certainly believe your story, and I can't help but be curious about your world."

"As I am about yours," Megatron said.

"Guess you'll just have to stay curious, sorry," Rodimus said, keen to stop _that_ before it went any further. "We really need to get back. It's been a busy few cycles and we had a lot of stuff to do before we came here so..."

"I understand," Optimus said. "We left your shuttle up on the moon though. Will you need assistance in getting back to the... what did you call it again?"

"The _Lost Light_ ," Rodimus replied. Unfortunately Optimus had a point. He didn't even know if Percy had sent someone to pick up the Rodpod yet. Not everyone appreciated his design genius, and he wouldn't have put it past him to put that low down on the priority list.

"We would be happy to give you a lift," Optimus said, brimming with honest, helpful energy. Somehow Rodimus had a feeling not everyone under his command would be happy with that plan, but he didn't mind the idea of pissing Ratchet off a little. It'd be nice to get his own back a little even.

"That'd be really great of you, thanks," Rodimus said, grinning.

\----

Megatron found himself surprised at Rodimus' eagerness to return to their own reality. His co-Captain was a thrill-seeker and an adventurer, so keen on new experiences that he would have expected him to jump at the opportunity to explore the possibilities of a world like yet unlike their own. Yet instead it seemed he could not wait to get back to the ship. Was something about this place bothering him so much? Had he picked up the same undercurrent of wrongness that Megatron had, and if so was he shying away from any hint of responsibility?

However there was no good reason that Megatron could give for challenging him on this. No reason that he would be willing to admit at any rate. He couldn't help but feel that there were wrongs here that needed righting but it was clear that the Autobots and Prime chief amongst them did not see them. That was not a surprise, to some extent. The Autobots had always been blind to how bad things had really been. It saddened him, but he couldn't simply give a speech and open their eyes to something he had only barely sensed the shape of. They held no particular trust for him. Why believe him?

Unlike Rodimus, Megatron had a properly developed sense of responsibility. If there was something that could be done to solve whatever corruption lay underneath... If only he had more information. The only way he believed he would get it though would be from the alternate Megatron, and the chance of that was fading fast. The trip back to the _Lost Light_ might be his only opportunity.

He had made some progress with Bulkhead. Not as much as he would have liked and not enough that if this had been the start of the war he would have made the offer to turn Decepticon, but perhaps just enough to persuade him to let something slide. He didn't need long. A few breems to seek for the truth, for ammunition to persuade Rodimus and Ultra Magnus that they were needed here... that was all.

His tanks churned inside him and he winced. More side-effects of the Fool's Energon no doubt. It would pass. For now he had to find the bot who could help him.

\----

"Hey Bulkhead," Sari said, spotting just the bot she was looking for. "Are you doing okay?"

"Hey Sari." The reply was more despondent than she was used to, but she was feeling pretty down right now as well. "I'm alright. Just... thinkin' about Prowl."

"Yeah, me too," Sari said. She came over to where Bulkhead was leaning against the wall and joined him. It did feel a little better to have her back to something solid, and the steady presence of a friend right beside her. She hoped that her being there was helping him as well. "Everyone said really nice things about him though. I think he would've liked it. The service."

"Jazz did a good job," Bulkhead agreed. He let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting. It made it a little easier for Sari to talk to him. "It just feels so strange. Not having him here. Knowing he's never going to _be_ here again."

Sari looked away. Her throat was tight and she knew if she said anything she might start crying. She had been crying already, in her room and a bit at the funeral. That was enough, wasn't it? She didn't want to fall apart whenever she thought about her friend. Prowl wouldn't want that.

"It's all those Decepticreep's fault," Bulkhead said. "If they didn't come here to try and get the Allspark back or to build a spacebridge and invade Cybertron none of this would have ever happened. We could'a stayed doing our jobs, just been nobodies. I liked being a nobody. This is... this is being a soldier. It's watching your friends die and there not being anything you can do about it."

"If you hadn't found the Allspark when you did, the Decepticons would have," Sari said. She didn't know why she was suddenly so confident about it, but there was some part of her that knew it to be true.

"What do you mean?" Bulkhead asked. All his attention was on her now, but it was easier to bear it when Prowl was no longer the topic.

"There was a Decepticon warship right in the same sector as you guys, right?" Sari said. "They were looking for the Allspark's energy signature. If you hadn't gotten it, they would have found that signature and then..." She shrugged. "Things would have gone very bad."

"I guess you're right," Bulkhead said slowly as he thought this over. "Still, why'd it have to be us, huh? If Primus really exists he shoulda made sure some Elite Guard were around to find it rather than a bunch of technicians."

"I don't know much about religion," Sari said. "Earth or Cybertronian. I guess..." She frowned, feeling for an answer. There was one. There was something... "It needed to be you. You were the right bots to find it, to protect it."

"We didn't even do that in the end," Bulkhead complained. "It got scattered everywhere. We've got some of it back now with that big crystal Jazz put in the hold, but it's still broken."

Sari was about to reply when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was Megatron - good-Megatron, that was. He looked thoughtful, maybe troubled even. Was it because of the funeral? The thought drew her mind back to Prowl and the fact that she would never see him again and she had to take a few deep breaths to hold it together.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Megatron said, frowning at them. Bulkhead _was_ sitting on the floor in the middle of a corridor, it probably did look weird. "I wanted to speak to you Bulkhead, if you have the time."

"Yeah, I don't mind," Bulkhead said, levering himself up off the floor. "What can I do for ya?"

"I've been thinking," Megatron said, and sighed. "Rodimus seems very eager to leave this reality, and while we cannot know how quickly it can be accomplished, once we return to our ship it's doubtful we will encounter each other again. I came to ask you for a favour, as it may be the last chance I have to do so."

"Okay," Bulkhead said slowly. "What kind of favour?"

"Since we watched your Optimus fight the other Megatron I have wondered what my counterpart's story is," Megatron said. "What is so different here? Why did he begin his war, and what has kept him going for all these long years."

His face was open and earnest, and Sari could kind of get where he was coming from. The Autobot symbol shone bright and red on his chest, just going to prove how much he wasn't like the Megatron they knew. If he and the other warframes were Autobots in their world, not Decepticons like everyone seemed to think they should be, why was that? Or to put it another way, why was their Megatron _not_ an Autobot? Why were all the Decepticons they had fought so far all warframes?

Evil-Megatron had pretty much shown that he was just that - evil - so... why? Why him and not this Megatron? For a moment Sari wondered if good-Megatron was actually just a _really_ good actor, but... no, if he was like his counterpart they would have seen it already. Optimus and Omega had both been really hurt after the battle so if the warframes had wanted to attack them and take over that would have been the perfect time to do it. But they hadn't. So they were good guys. It just stood to reason.

Bulkhead was looking nervous. "I think I know what that favour is," he said. "You want me to let you talk to Megatron, right?"

Good-Megatron nodded. "I knew you would understand Bulkhead," he said.

"I don't know if that's a very good idea," Bulkhead said, tapping the tips of his fingers together. "I know Ratchet wouldn't like it."

"I don't ask that you leave me alone with him," good-Megatron said, extending a hand, almost pleading. "All I want is to ask him some questions and hope that the answers are useful."

"I bet they won't be," Sari said, crossing her arms. "He'll just start taunting, like he did when we captured him. But I think we should let you ask anyway. _I_ want to know what he'll say."

Megatron looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Are you sure it will be safe for... one such as yourself?" he asked.

"Uh, I'm not just any squishy human," Sari told him. "I'm basically a Cybertronian like you guys. Besides, he's behind a forcefield and he's got stasis cuffs on. What's he going to do?"

Bulkhead still looked torn, but Sari could see the moment he finally cracked. "Okay fine," he said. "But we gotta keep it snappy. And we'll leave if he's not gonna be helpful."

"Thank you," Megatron said, his eyes practically glowing. "You do not know what this means to me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is written by the victors, and propaganda is more palatable than reality. Reality still has to be confronted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some liberties have been taken with TFA history as presented in the Almanac/on the Wiki.

There had been no attempt at medical care since he had been forced into this cell. That had come as no surprise. Megatron had been fighting Autobots long enough to know that their proclamations of being merciful and just applied only to those mechanisms they believed to be real people. Warframes were not people. They were weapons, ones that had taken it into their heads to act on their own. Uncontrolled, uncontrollable, and proving with every moment outside of Autobot slavery the lies that had been told about them. It was this rejection of Function which made them dangerous over and above any physical attributes they might have. An unruly weapon did not require servicing.

Pain still throbbed endlessly through his circuits, but Megatron had rerouted it to the lower-level parts of his processor where it proved less of a distraction. A convenience of warframe coding; one he'd had cause to use many times over the vorns. His plating was battered and ablated from the explosion that had nearly offlined him. In some areas the thick metal, ceramics and other materials had burned all the way through, or taken enough damage to crack and break off. Struts, cables and hydraulics were left exposed to the elements. It was taunting a rust infection to take hold. His self-repair systems were focused on triage. Given enough time, a clean environment, and a diet rich in heavy minerals he might be able to heal the damage, but none of those were in his future.

On the other hand being left in this state did give some credence to the claim that the Autobots planned to execute him after he was brought back to Cybertron. If they wished to subjugate him once again, they might have put a little more effort in. A dead slave was not particularly useful.

Somewhere out of sight a door slid open. Megatron did not look up. He would not give his captors the satisfaction of showing interest in their comings and goings, even if these were the first visitors he'd had since being thrown in here. It had been only a few solar cycles admittedly, but he had expected to be back on Cybertron by now. Apparently the Autobots had chosen not to leave this planet yet, for their own reasons no doubt. He did not care.

Heavy pedesteps echoed. Light and shadow moved, just visible from the corners of Megatron's optics. A deep voice said, "Is this the state you keep your prisoners in?"

The voice was familiar. It was nearly his own voice. Megatron looked up, his suspicions rapidly confirmed. The heavy tank-alt warframe that had assisted in his capture was standing on the other side of the forcefield, his arms crossed over his chestplate. He was trying to hide it, but he was both angry and uncomfortable, Megatron could tell. Perhaps he was considering how easily he might have been in a cell such as this, had it not been for his capitulation to Autobot orders. He even wore their brand on his chest.

What a good, obedient weapon.

The spacebridge expert and the little techno-organic creature were here as well. How wonderful. Bulkhead and... she was the spawn of the scientist who had held him captive for so many years and picked over his frame like a scavenger, wasn't she. Sumdac. Sari Sumdac.

"Hey, you know how busy Ratchet's been," Bulkhead said. He sounded defensive. Did he find it harder to lay claim to morality when he had to justify himself? A mocking smile curled Megatron's lips. The technician continued, "I'm sure he's going to do some repairs the moment he gets some time."

The warframe said nothing. He was examining Megatron carefully. Megatron met the gaze of red optics and stared back. He was curious about this mech himself. The one who had been referred to by his own name. At the time he had thought it a glitch brought on by processor damage, but when a systems reboot after a brief recharge cycle hadn't remedied it, he had to think again. Megatron. Was it a joke? Mockery, and if so to whom? Was it a warning to this mech to be on his best behaviour?

The other warframes who had accompanied this one had claimed they were from an alternate universe. The implication was clear. That this mech was supposedly another version of himself. A Megatron who had not rebelled. A Megatron who remained a loyal member of the conquering Autobot armies, ready to subjugate the galaxy as well as their own people. A Megatron who had not made his choices - or perhaps was not able to make his choices. It was possible that science was more advanced in their reality. His slave coding might not have been so easy to break.

They did look alike. They were of a height, and their builds were roughly the same. The primary difference was in their alt-modes, tank rather than rotary. Megatron wondered why this was. Was this the effect of reformatting into a different frame, or a difference that had been there since the start?

"You know who I am," his alternate said. It was not a question.

"I'm inclined to believe your story," Megatron replied. "What other explanation is there for a warframe who wears an Autobot brand?"

"In our reality there would be many," the alternate said. "Here it seems that form has come to determine faction rather than simply function."

"Not by _our_ choice. Function rules only on Cybertron and its colonies. Our worlds are not so dogmatic."

Bulkhead snorted. Megatron shot him a glare, which did not have the effect it might have done were he in better physical condition. "Anarchy and chaos I'll bet," the Autobot said dismissively. He might be highly intelligent when it came to spacebridges, but he was clearly naive when it came to anything else.

"Chaos is not the Decepticon way," his alternate said, surprising Megatron. He spoke with more surety than he would have expected from an Autobot. As though from personal experience. Perhaps there was less propaganda and more truth where he was from. "Or at least it is not the ideal."

"No-one is beholden to their frametype or altmode in my Empire," Megatron said, addressing Bulkhead as much as his counterpart self. "My soldiers fight because it is what they desire." Not because they were forced into it, not because they were slaves.

"I bet," Bulkhead said with a look of disgust. "Thirsty for death and energon yeah? Wanting violence makes you the good guys now?" He had missed the point entirely, and the corollary that those warframes who did _not_ desire to fight were permitted that choice. The other Megatron was more astute, judging from the sidelong glance he sent Bulkhead's way.

"Bulkhead was kind enough to permit me to speak to you," his alternate said, which was a warning of its own kind. "I wished to ask about the war."

"Which war?" Megaton asked, baring his dentae. "There have been so many."

"See," the Sumdac girl said. "He's being a dick again."

His alternate did not react. "I am told that here you were a soldier in the armies of Cybertron until you rebelled. How did it happen? _Why_ did it happen?"

'I am told you were a soldier'. That was a strange way of phrasing it. As though this Megatron did not know for sure, which implied that he was not a soldier. Yet he wore the Autobot brand, and it was hard to see what other function he might serve in their society. It wasn't as though they would have let him retire. Perhaps he was an instructor, a drill sergeant of some kind, although that would be a monumental waste of his capabilities. "Haven't you seen the Autobot histories of that time? I am sure they are most illuminating," he said as he thought.

His alternate tapped the red badge at the centre of his chest. "I don't like to make assumptions," he said, layering meaning into his tone. Megatron took the hint. Don't assume their reality is the same as your own. Don't assume their Autobots are the same as yours, or that they believe in the same things. Interesting. "It's easy for official histories to forget things that make them look bad," he continued.

"Oh, I'm certain they bear little resemblance to the truth," Megatron replied. "Still, how can you trust I am any more impartial?"

Bulkhead grunted. "See, he admits he's just gonna lie to us," he said, waving a servo.

"Perhaps the truth will be found somewhere in the middle," the other Megatron said. "Or perhaps with a little deductive reasoning we shall figure it out."

“Thinking for yourself,” Megatron said. “Heresy to an Autobot.”

“Hey,” Bulkhead objected.

“Have you ever questioned your orders Autobot?” Megatron asked him, keen to push the point home and already knowing the answer. “Have you ever questioned the lies they have told you?”

“Yeah I have,” Bulkhead said. “I don’t always do what Bossbot tells me to. This one time I helped Prowl smuggle the Dinobots to an island so they didn’t get deactivated, ‘cos it was the right thing to do.”

The alternate Megatron put out a servo, gesturing for calm. “We didn’t come here to insult each other,” he said. “We came to learn something. Our time is limited as it is without wasting it this way.”

“He started it,” Bulkhead grumbled, but settled down. It was interesting. Megatron wouldn’t have expected him to listen so easily to a warframe, not least one who openly admitted to being his counterpart from some other reality. A counterpart who spoke as though he were used to giving commands and having them obeyed, yet who clearly knew something of diplomacy as well. That spoke to experience of leading, whether troops or something else. Nor had he expected Bulkhead to admit to defying orders.

Now to test how much of the truth these three would believe. Megatron settled back, feeling the weight of the stasis cuffs around his wrists, and made himself as comfortable as it was possible to be under the circumstances. “There is no easy place to start this story,” he said. “It didn’t begin when I took up my swords and declared war on the Autobots, as _they_ might claim. The roots are far further back, into the Age your kind now _fondly_ call the Golden Age, and the rest of the galaxy calls the Age of Conquest. The Autobot urge for expansion.” He sneered. “Or how do you think you came by those colonies of yours?”

“The organics attacked us first,” Bulkhead said, displaying that naivety again.

“That is overstating it by a large margin,” Megatron replied. “The Quintessons attacked us; they are perhaps the only species in this galaxy older than us and they remember a time when they ruled the stars unchallenged. It was one of their expansionist phases, I understand. Not just Cybertron, but other worlds as well. It was before my time, but also before the Senate started to make such a mess of the history books.”

The Sumdac girl snorted. “So we should trust the stuff you read about, but not the stuff Bulkhead reads about? Sure, that makes sense.”

“The ruthless editing of censorship is obvious when you know what to look for,” Megatron said. “Reality is complex, and so were my sources. Still,” he shrugged as much as the cuffs would let him, “believe it or do not. What does it matter to me?”

The alternate Megatron was looking uncomfortable. “There was an attack from organics,” he said softly, “and I imagine the response was to tar all such species with the same brush. A pre-emptive strike.”

“Sounds familiar?” Megatron asked, honestly curious. His alternate did not meet his optics.

“Yes.”

His reluctance to speak more was clear. Megatron did not push, although he wanted to. As his counterpart had said, their time was limited. “The Senate back then was in the hands of a different political faction. The Protectobots. So called due to their stated desire to protect Cybertron from the threat of organic life. They were quick to use the Quintesson attacks to increase anti-organic sentiment and drive support for their expansionist ideologies.”

Bulkhead reset his optics. “If this all started with these ‘Protectobots’ you’re talking about, what have us Autobots got to do with anything?”

“Oh, I will get to that,” Megatron promised him, with all the menace the question deserved. “In time.” He continued with what he had been saying. “The Quintesson war machine had become distracted by various organic factions standing up to them and were not expecting a counterstrike from Cybertron. Naturally it did not stop there. Soon it became apparent that this new state of war required soldiers to match it, as organic technology and weapons became more and more of a credible threat. An elite unit was created, the Destrons, commanded by a warrior named Megazarek.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of him,” Bulkhead said. “I heard he was a real nasty Decepticon. Used to be in charge until you stabbed him in the back and took over.”

Megatron sighed. It had been… so much more complicated than that. But unlike this attempt to combat the Autobot propaganda about the war, it was not a subject he wished to discuss. Let him take it to his grave, or rather to the smelting pit that would undoubtedly be his fate after his execution. “I will not defend his character,” he said. “If he had not become what he was, I would not have been forced to kill him.” He could tell the Autobot wasn’t convinced, but at least Bulkhead didn’t object again. Megatron was rapidly losing patience with being called a monster.

“By all accounts,” he continued, “the Destrons were highly successful in combat. The obvious response was to build more. They survived at a much higher rate than Cybertron’s other soldiers and soon they began to dominate the makeup of the army.”

“Warframes,” Bulkhead said, understanding.

“Exactly,” Megatron said. “Myself among them.” His counterpart remained silent. He was clearly listening intently, taking it all in, but his face remained impassive and unreadable. Did all of this sound familiar to him? Was it a story that matched his own universe? Some of it must at least, for him to be so touchy about organics. “The great wave of Cybertron’s armies swept out over the galaxy, churning organics into so much meat before it. We took planets, destroyed populations, drove species fleeing before us.

“I won’t pretend I was not a part of it. I won’t even pretend that I was forced into it, not at that time. I had no other ambitions back then. I was young, and as naive as you are.” Bulkhead’s optics narrowed at that. “The Protectobots had their own propaganda, and I believed it. I know better now - you should learn the same.”

“So what changed huh?” Sari asked. “You’re saying everyone was terrible and evil back then, including you and all your soldier buddies. But that was before the Autobots were even a thing, right? So what changed, and why blame them for it?”

“We were starting to reach the limits of our resources,” Megatron replied. “The pace of expansion was too much, demand for fuel and supplies was starting to outstrip production, and we were beginning to tire of bloodshed. It had been understandable at first, and the propaganda was persuasive, but conquest also meant contact with organic life. Not all of it was trying to kill us. For some backwater species the first time they ever met a Cybertronian was when we invaded. Some tried to be friendly. Others tried surrender. The Protectobot Senate ordered them destroyed anyway.”

The Sumdac girl - who had thought herself human for most of her life - was clearly affected by this. Her discomfort came out as disbelief. “I know Sentinel and some of the other Autobots didn’t really like organics,” she said, “but are you really trying to say they’re… like that?”

“Who can say how far the Autobot Senate would go if they did not have the Decepticons to worry about?” Megatron said, almost amused. These were his enemies; he felt no shame taking pleasure in their discomfort. “The Protectobot Senate went very far indeed.”

“You had a crisis of conscience,” the alternate Megatron said. It was the first he had spoken in some time.

“Something like that,” Megatron replied. “Megazarek decided enough was enough. We had colonies aplenty, and it seemed better to spend some time on building them up, not milking them for every last resource and moving on. By then he was the Commander in Chief of all Cybertronian forces, so his opinions had some weight. Yet even so he still had to bow before the Senate and Nova Magnus. So he decided to force an end to the war.”

“Wait up,” Bulkhead said. “I don’t remember anything in the history books about a military coup.”

“It was not precisely a coup,” Megatron said, “but it was cut out of history in the Great Purge all the same. Nova Magnus managed to claw his way back to power eventually and he didn’t want anyone to remember that he and his had ever fallen.” He snorted. “I lived through that time though. Datapads can be destroyed. Memories are harder.

“Megazarek was not subtle in his takeover, but we tried not to shed energon unless it was truly necessary. We took control of the Senate and called a halt to the imperialistic war machine. Megazarek enforced peace. That was all we wanted, and it seemed to go well at first."

"I'm finding it real hard to believe all this," Bulkhead said. "If a bunch'a warframes took over the government this one time I'd a thought we would’ve heard of it. You really mean to tell me it was all covered up, like some big conspiracy?"

Megatron smirked. "I'm sure if you dug deep enough you would still find some trace of these events," he said. "Scholars and historians no doubt know. Yet few civilians who lived through that time still live now."

"I wonder how that happened," Bulkhead muttered.

"Blame your Senate and blame Ultra Magnus," Megatron said. "For throwing civilians at warframes and expecting them to survive."

"So if you guys were in charge," Sari said, "and the Protectobots were basically gone, what happened?"

"Now we come to it," Megatron said. "The rise of the Autobots. This was a time of peace, understand that. We had treaties with the organics. We had settled on our colonies and we were building. Thriving. Warframes were no longer soldiers, but were free to pursue their ambitions. Relatively free. The doctrine of function over anything else existed back then, but it did not hold the sway it does now.

“We found work in all walks of life - or tried to." He could not help but bear his dentae. It may have been long ago, but the memories and the resentment were no less fresh in his mind. "The civilians were afraid of us. They called us violent, inherently unstable. Pretended we were monsters. Some colonists who had started to make organic friends decided to lay the bloodshed of war upon our servos as if we had begun the conquest ourselves. Others began to tire of peace, and listen again to the whispers of Nova. The tide of opinion turned against us.

"It didn't come all at once. We might have realised what was happening if it had. It was a slow creep of power, rights and choice being leeched away from us. We were pushed out of jobs that held social capital or influence, fired for the smallest of offences, refused work... it got to the point where we were deemed unsuitable for any work that was not within our function."

The alternate Megatron had clenched his servos so hard the joints were beginning to creak. There was a little bit of flare around the edge of his optics. At least this was someone who shared his anger. How had this gone for him, where he was from? Had this Megatron been through all this and was suffering through hearing it again? Megatron hoped there would be time to ask his own questions at the end of this for the sake of his own curiosity, but between the two of them he was sitting in a cell and his alternate wasn't. Only one of them was in a position to act on the information the other gave them.

"Eventually we were all unemployed and starving, many among us resorting to crime just to get by. That made it all the easier to vilify us," Megatron continued. "Megazarek was tarred with the same brush and removed from power, replaced by the Autobot faction. Nova didn't retake the position of Magnus this time. No, he preferred to wield his power from the shadows, where it could not be taken away so easily. He gave it to his ally instead, the young, untested Autobot called Ultra. And then they started pushing for the so-called Second Golden Age.

“The promise of work, of credits and energon, was enough to tempt a lot of warframes back into the army. There were no handouts for mechs who refused their function after all. It was what society wanted as well. It was where we belonged, the life we were made for.” Each sentence was edged with sarcasm, for he couldn't be pleasant about this. Not after everything. “Very soon it was the only option, and then not even a choice at all.The Autobots weren't _comfortable_ with us around. We were useful tools but nothing more than that.”

His alternate's engine growled. “What happened to those who refused?” he asked.

“It began merely as talk, as it always does,” Megatron replied. “Claims that recalcitrant warframes were a drain on resources and a threat to public safety. It we wouldn't perform our function we should be melted down for scrap. Just threats from extremists, easily disregarded. Until it was no longer just talk. Until they started hunting us down like mechanimals. Experimenting on us. Finding ways to make us biddable. To control us.

“They made us _slaves_. Do you understand that? They created coding to force us to obey the orders of our Autobot commanders. Even those warframes who had shown no sign of disloyalty. They could not be _trusted_ otherwise.”

He was aware of his spark burning fiercely beneath layers of armour plating, his engine ticking into higher gear as base-coded instinct prepared him for the fight it thought was coming. He did his best to calm himself. Anger would not be productive here. Anger only convinced those that shared it; it turned away those more inclined to fear it, such as the Autobot in front of him or the little techno-organic. The techno-organic who was emitting clear signs of distress.

“Does this upset you?” he asked Sari, unable to keep all of the growl out of his voice. 

She blinked up at him with moist eyes. “Uh, _yeah_ it upsets me,” she said. “It sounds completely horrible, and I really want you to be lying… but it doesn’t feel like you are.”

That was unexpected. Megatron looked at her with growing curiosity, cycling his optics in to examine her more closely. His scans were picking up an accelerated heart-rate and tense muscles across her tiny frame. “You seemed so certain I _would_ lie,” he said. “What has changed?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding almost plaintive. “Maybe it’s that you’d have to be a bigger monster than I ever thought to make something like that up. Or maybe it’s something else, because I just feel like I _know_ it was real. That it happened.”

Bulkhead crouched down on one knee to bring himself closer to her. “But Sari,” he said, “if all this happened, why don’t any of us know about it? I never heard of this before, and I bet Optimus and Bee never did either.”

“Because you have been lied to,” Megatron said. “You have been deceived into thinking we were the aggressors, when we were only trying to defend ourselves against what had been done to us. We wanted to be free. We wanted the world we’d had a taste of, if only for a brief span of time. When Megazarek re-emerged from whatever part of Cybertron’s underworld he had been hiding in and offered to break those chains there was not a single one of us who would have refused him.”

“We’re not like that,” Bulkhead insisted. “Ultra Magnus isn’t like that. He wouldn’t have let slag like that go on.” Megatron detected an edge to his voice that suggested his confidence was shaken though. His words were becoming more question than statement or objection. 

“Ultra Magnus did what the Senate told him to do,” Megatron told them, through clenched dentae. “He has always been a pragmatist. He was that way when I fought him and he does not appear to have changed since our treaty was signed.”

There was doubt in the Autobots optics now. Perhaps he was re-evaluating certain facts through the lens of this new perspective. That was good. That was progress. Doubt led to questioning, and the whole artifice of lies could not stand up to close inspection. That was why these newspark civilians were taught so hard never to think of asking. 

“Megazarek,” the alternate Megatron said, bringing the topic back around. “He led your rebellion at the start. What changed?”

“Megazarek had changed,” Megatron admitted. “Perhaps his time in power had stoked unhealthy ambitions, or perhaps he had been made bitter by whatever he’d done to survive the aftermath of having it ripped away. He had become cruel, and he turned his anger against us as well as the Autobots. He was leading us down a terrible path, and I was one of those close enough to him to see it. I chose to act.”

His counterpart looked away. “And then the civil war,” he said quietly. 

Megatron nodded. “You understand that it will not stop with my death,” he said. “The Decepticons are greater than a single mech. We will throw down the system, destroy the threat to Cybertron and the wider galaxy that the Autobot regime represents. If you and your warframe friends intend to remain in this reality for any length of time at all you should consider very carefully what side of this you want to be on.”

“I am considering exactly that,” the other Megatron replied, and it had the sound of a promise. 

\----

There was a horrible, squirming feeling spark-deep in Bulkhead’s internals when he left the cells. He barely paid any attention when the other Megatron, the Autobot one, said goodbye and stomped off in the other direction looking like there was an acid-rain cloud hovering over him. He just kept thinking about what their Megatron had said. All that history. It didn’t sound real. Didn’t sound like it _could_ be real. It had to be a pack of lies, right? Decepticon propaganda, the kind Ratchet had warned them all about.

Though Ratchet had also said the old Autobot history vids were nonsense too, that it hadn’t been like that, but Bulkhead had always imagined he meant they only talked about the good bits, didn’t show the cost in energon it had taken to win all those battles back then. Not… this. The dirty side of history was meant to be in… soldiers dying, and bad conditions, and energon rationing, and stuff like that, not slavery!

What would Ratchet say if he heard all of this? Maybe he would be able to reassure them that Megatron was lying and none of it had ever happened. Bulkhead wracked his processor trying to work out exactly how old Ratchet was. It wasn't exactly polite to ask a bot his age, but he wasn't a newspark by any means. He'd been around before the start of the civil war, but for how long? Maybe he had never seen this peaceful Cybertron that Megatron talked about with warframes and regular bots living side by side - not that it sounded at all realistic. How would that work? Warframes were aggressive and they had combat protocols and they were just too big for anything on Cybertron...

Bulkhead caught just what he was thinking. Was he being unfair? Megatron seemed to think that warframes didn't have to be like that. They could be regular normal people if they wanted to be, who didn't just take whatever they wanted, who didn't threaten bots that got in their way, who didn't use violence first and words second. He bet Megatron would have said everything he thought he knew about warframes was wrong. Just propaganda. Still, all the warframes Bulkhead had met so far had been total jerks.

He had been fighting them though, not trying to make friends. And these alternate universe warframes weren't like that, were they? They were decent. Polite. The Autobot Megatron had been really nice to him even, happy to talk about boring things like farming energon and rural life on a little nowhere colony.

So maybe... maybe they were wrong. Maybe warframes didn't have to be... like that. Except so what? They were still at war. All the warframes were Decepticons, and Megatron had admitted they weren't going to be happy until they tore Cybertron apart and rebuilt it just like they wanted. How many bots would have to die for that to happen? How much spilt energon would it take? What did Megatron expect any of them to do with what he'd said!

"Hey, Bulkhead?" Bulkhead was startled out of his thoughts as he realised Sari had been trying to get his attention.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just... gotta lot to think about."

"Yeah, I'll say," she said. She wasn't looking at him but down at the floor, her arms hugging herself tight over her chest. "That was kind of... really messed up, right."

"Yeah. Maybe... maybe it's not true?"

"I tried thinking like that in there," Sari said. "Then I remembered Sentinel, and how much of a jerk he was, and I thought... what if there were a lot more Autobots like him? I mean, there have been some really bad people here on Earth in the past. It's not like humans haven't done a lot of really bad things. So why not giant alien robots. Why should we expect your history to be so much better than that of Earth?"

Bulkhead felt his plating clamp down even tighter over his frame. "Sari I don't... I don't want you to think that we're like that. I don't want us to have been like that."

"Or to think maybe somehow some of you still are," Sari said, almost too quietly to be heard.

"What do we do now?" Bulkhead asked her, just wanting some kind of certainty. Not that it was fair to put that on her. "We could talk to Ratchet and Optimus?"

"I think we have to," Sari replied. "They deserve to know about this, if they don't already."

Yeah. If they didn't already. And what would it mean if they _did_ , Bulkhead wondered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Megatron's revelations, many mechs will have to examine that which they thought they knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not trying to make Ratchet out to be the villain here. He just has some conflicting beliefs that he is trying very hard to rationalise, and is only partly succeeding.
> 
> I should also say that the fic owes a debt of inspiration both to 'The Brave Shall Heed The Call' by MlleMusketeer, and all of Astolat's Transformers fic, which gave the most coherent and understandable explanation of Megatron's rhetoric of 'peace through tyranny' that I've read. So go read those fics also.

Megatron stalked away from the cells where his counterpart was being held, trying to keep his anger under control. It had been burning and building up inside him ever since he had walked into the cell block and seen the mess they had left of his counterpart. Megatron had been up close to the damage that had been inflicted upon him in the fight that had ended in his capture, and he had expected repairs to be a priority. He knew he was tough and assumed his alternate was as well, but it was basic decency to offer aid to a prisoner. Under his leadership the Decepticons might have tortured prisoners for information or offlined them, but he had never ordered pain and violence without a reason.

Many of the mechs that fought for him saw pain itself as reason enough, and it shamed him now that he had slipped far enough that discouraging them had not seemed worth it. Still, at least that showed some interest. Intent. This had been a torture of neglect and apathy.

From the way Bulkhead had reacted, they simply didn't see tending to their injured prisoner as any kind of a priority. Through the haze of rage Megatron still had the presence of mind to wonder why. Bulkhead hadn't come out with any self-serving justifications. It didn't seem like cruelty, not from _these_ bots he had to grudgingly admit. Did they believe warframes did not feel pain? Did not process it in the same way they did?

Given the history his alternate had told them, that kind of attitude seemed horribly possible.

The other Megatron had been more forthcoming than he had hoped for, and more honest. There had been no lies in what he'd told them. He would have noticed if there had been. It was possible that he had omitted some things, but the basic facts of it were all there, irrefutable. The history of this world was very different to their own, but the same threads ran through it all the same. Injustice. Functionalism. Oppression. Autocracy. Imperialism. It had been answered here in the same way it had been at home, by bots taking a stand against it through the only means left to them; violence. The inevitability of war.

Here though there had been no soft-sparked Prime leading the Autobots. No-one trying to reform the system from the inside, foolish though that ambition had been. Only the Decepticons, with Megatron as their leader. Not only Megatron however. There had been another, a name that pinged nothing in his memory banks no matter how hard he searched them. Who was Megazarek? Had he ever existed in their own reality, or was this something else wholly different?

There was so much about this version of history that troubled him. Little things from his alternate's story that grated against his plating and made his fuel pump churn with unease. The Golden Age here sounded uncomfortably similar to Nova Prime's Golden Age that would have ended with the galaxy crushed under-pede had he not disappeared into the depths of the Dead Universe. Nova had just been a Magnus here, rather than a Prime. Was this in essence a vision of a world where his disappearance never happened? Where Nova and his Senate continued his work rather than falling to the decadence of Nominus?

Megatron would be lying to himself if he pretended there hadn't been times over the vorns of the Constellate, where he had been more focused on empire-building than killing Autobots, that he hadn't compared what he was doing to what history told of Nova Prime's ambitions. He had reassured himself back then that it was not the same, that Nova would have subjugated all races not Cybertronian, whereas _he_ was only dealing with those that had proved themselves to be potential threats. Other mechanicals had nothing to fear from him.

That excuse ran too thin these days. He had been deceiving himself, and even leaving aside all the blood and energon staining his servos, that was a sin Megatron could not forgive himself for. He had built the Decepticons upon that tenet. They might lie and mislead about small things, about tactics in war, when spying, when trying to jockey for position amongst each other, but they would never lie about the big things. They would always be honest about their intentions. If a mech wanted another one dead, they would know it. If they wanted them in pain, or defeated, or suffering, they must never pretend it was for their own good. Pretty words hiding evil deeds were the ways of noblemechs, of the Senate, of the Primes. Megatron intended to drag evil out into the light where it could be seen for everything it was.

So he had told himself. Yes, he had done terrible things, but let him never pretend that they were not terrible, nor that he had done them for any reason other than that they were necessary. Or, later, because he wanted to.

Now though... Looking back... The lies he'd told himself started to crumble as he began to notice them for the first time. If he had ignored the other paths that _had_ been available in favour of the total mastery of Cybertron's destiny he had expected victory through war to bring, then he had made a choice he'd pretended never existed.

He had not been honest with himself about his reasons, and so he had slipped. Slipped and kept slipping, drowned himself and the rest of the galaxy in corpses, let the sadists and murderers and worse within his faction have free reign rather than keeping the tight leash on them he'd had at the very start. Thus he ended up here. On a fool's quest to find someone who could tell him how to make up for everything he had done.

He found more of himself in Megazarek than in his own namesake. What did that make him?

The Decepticons were different here. That had been a surprise too. They hadn't started as the unwanted, the poor, the downtrodden, but as soldiers built for war in the same way so many made-to-order cold constructed bots had been. They hadn't been measuring injustice against what other bots were given and they denied, but against what had been snatched away from them. For a time it sounded like there had been a Cybertron like the one he had claimed to be fighting for, before it was eroded out from under pede.

It made the dream more tangible. It was something solid to fight for in this reality, not just an image conjured up by some miner's hopes, built out of nothing more substantial than words. _This_ Megatron had always known it was possible to win. In a way it came almost as a relief. Megatron could know now that a peaceful Cybertron was achievable, had _been_ achieved in some other reality. It was too late for him to take part in building it at home, but... if Starscream could be less _Starscream_ then maybe there was a chance.

Of course the Decepticons here were still fighting for their better world and their war was far from over. Anger which had begun to shift into melancholy with the maudlin turn of his thoughts kindled once again. They had their own version of mnemosurgery here. No Institute hiding in the shadows carrying it out either, but enslaving minds out in the open, en-masse. His servos twitched, wanting to move up to cover the back of his helm and neck. He forced them to still with the effort of long practise. Trepan had been distracted before he'd finished all those years ago. Soundwave had scanned him enough times to confirm that. He was still the mech he'd always been.

His counterpart hadn't been so lucky.

Rodimus wanted to leave this place. His priority was the quest, the Knights. He wasn't a Decepticon, and he had refused the offer to become one even as a much younger mech who knew everything the Senate was capable of first hand. Despite Zeta Prime, despite Nyon, despite the vamparc devices, he had given himself over to the Autobot cause as though he was unable to see that there was no version of the system that existed that was worthy of preserving. He wouldn't feel any kind of responsibility to right the wrongs that existed here. Could it still be called optimism if the results of it were no better than apathy, or lack of caring?

Megatron had given his word that he would remain with the crew of the _Lost Light_. He was loath to break it. Yet he would betray everything his spark stood for if he walked away from this, just as he had betrayed it when he had strayed too far down the road paved by tyranny. If he could not persuade Rodimus of the need to act, then...

Then he would make the only decision he could live with making.

\----

"Ratchet?"

Ratchet looked up from the bridge console at the sound of Omega's voice. He'd been running through some final checks of the shuttlebot's systems before they set off for lunar orbit and this ' _Lost Light'_ , but he could certainly spare the time to talk to his friend. He was in no rush to leave. He didn't believe this was a good idea, though Optimus had overruled him. That soft spark of his was a good quality in a bot, but sometimes too good. Ratchet was well aware that war had toughened him into a mech very unlike the one he'd been before the war, but it wasn't time to try and unbend yet.

"You sound troubled old friend," he said. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I should have told you," Omega started, sounding miserable. Ratchet straightened up, systems going on alert. That tone couldn't mean anything good. "I was going to, but then I started listening. I was listening too hard to think about my duty. I'm sorry."

"Listening?" Ratchet asked cautiously. No, this didn't sound good at all. "What do you mean Omega?"

"Bulkhead let the Autobot Megatron into the cells," Omega confessed. "Sari was there too. They talked to the bad Megatron."

Ratchet felt like he'd been dunked into a barrel of coolant. He'd heard far too much about the kind of menace warframes - Decepticons - presented as a newspark in the run-up to the war, and even more since. Sure, he knew some of it was taken a little too far in the name of propaganda, but he had always justified it to himself as necessary to get it through the thick helms of some bots. The kind of bots who otherwise might think the 'Cons had a point. Who didn't _get it_ , because they had never had the kind of experience Ratchet had.

His memory banks shoved a mess of misfiring data into the front of his processor with a jolt that had him squeezing his optics shut as he reset them. He was a medic, he knew well enough what it was. No-bot wanted to admit to trauma though, not if it meant they couldn't do their Primus-damned job in a time of war. It still took more effort than he liked before the feeling of a larger frame looming over him subsided, until he could no longer feel Lockdown's ex-vents ghosting against his plating. The ache where his EMP generator had been torn out and now reattached started to subside.

"Ratchet?" Omega asked, alarmed.

"It's nothing Omega," Ratchet said, before the shuttle could get too concerned. "I'm fine." Now he was back in the present he could concentrate on just what a fool Bulkhead had been. Ratchet didn't trust the alternate version of Megatron much more than the real one, no matter if he wore an Autobrand on his chest. A brand wasn't a manifesto. Who knew what the Autobots stood for where they were from? They might be their universe's version of the Decepticons, for all any of them knew. And now this. These interdimensional interlopers were meant to be heading home. There was no reason to talk to the captive Megatron.

"Are you angry with me Ratchet?" Omega asked.

"Angry at you? Why would I be angry at _you_? This is Bulkhead's fault, that glitch."

"I didn't tell you that they went down there. I should have told you when it started."

Ratchet patted the console in front of him. That was right, Omega had said he'd been... distracted. By what he had overheard. Too busy listening. Frag it all, what had Megatron been filling his processor with? "What were they talking about?" he asked.

"The war," Omega replied. "How it started. Ratchet, he said the Decepticons were built as soldiers. But they didn't want to fight? Why wouldn't they want to fight? That's why they were made. It's why I was made. It's what we're for, isn't it?"

Oh dear. This wasn't anything Ratchet had ever hoped he would have to explain. He wasn't sure if they had given Omega the capacity to understand the answers. That had been half the point of the project, as Perceptor had explained it to him at the time. It was monstrous, what they'd done as part of the Omega Sentinel project, but it had already been well underway by the time Ratchet found out about it. He never _would_ have found out about it if it hadn't been for Arcee. The Sentinels would have just been there one day, proud product of the Autobot Military Science Division, protecting them all.

He would never have known that they'd come online with processors stripped down and streamlined. Too simple to ask questions about what they were being asked to do, was what they meant by that. Trusting, obedient, merciless. Made to follow their handler with the utmost loyalty and do whatever was asked with no thought to their own functioning. That lack of self-preservation instinct had done for so many of Omega's siblings. Ratchet had managed to prevent it offlining _him_ , but only just.

Sometimes he looked back and wondered about some of the Decepticon propaganda he'd seen. The outlandish and unbelievable claims about what had supposedly been done to them. There hadn't been any qualms about the Omega Sentinel project from Magnus or anyone else, or so it seemed. So why not the 'Cons? Then he reminded himself about what warframe nature was like. _They_ hadn't been built so good at spark as Omega and his kin. They were monsters, and monsters needed to be contained. If there was any truth to their claims then surely it wasn't anything like Omega. Hadn't the 'Cons proved that by what they'd done when they stopped following Autobot orders?

"You were constructed to fight in the war," Ratchet said slowly, trying to find the best way to answer Omega's question. "But that doesn't mean all you'll ever have to do is fight. We thought the war was over for a good long while there. Hopefully it'll end for good soon. Then you won't have to fight if you don't want to."

"If you say I should fight, I'll fight," Omega said. "If you say not to, I won't."

Ratchet tried not to flinch. He always hated it when Omega talked like that. When he reminded him that Ratchet had been assigned as his handler, not as his friend. He didn't want things to be like that between them. "The Decepticons still had a war to fight though," Ratchet said, hoping to move past the awkwardness. "They had jobs as soldiers. They had signed up, taken oaths. They were getting paid for their work. Except they didn't want to be productive members of society. They wanted chaos, to do whatever they wanted, hurt whoever they wanted. So they tried to tear everything down for their own selfish reasons."

"That's not what the bad Megatron said," Omega told him. "But I won't listen to him if you think he was lying."

"Of course he's lying," Ratchet said. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"

"Sari didn't think he was lying. Neither did Autobot Megatron."

That... wasn't good. "And Bulkhead?"

"I don't know."

Ratchet ground his dentae together. Bulkhead, scrap it all, what have you done?  "What else did Megatron say?" he had to know what the damage was before he could fix it.

"He said the Autobots did something to them. It was a word I don't know. Ratchet, what it is a slave?"

Any quick answer to that question wasn't going to be a good one, given how worked up and overclocked Ratchet was feeling right now. He kept himself under tight control and tried to think. "It's not a good thing Omega," he said slowly, buying himself time. "A slave is... something like a captive, a prisoner. Only they haven't necessarily done anything wrong. They aren't being punished because it's justice, and they're not being rehabilitated. They belong to someone else like a piece of property."

Omega rumbled, an uneasy thrum of engines that made the deck plates shudder. "But... why?"

"Generally because some beings want another lifeform to work for them, but they don't want to have to worry about paying them or treating them well." That was one reason anyway. The easiest one to explain. Omega might be capable of violence when the situation called for it but there wasn't an ounce of cruelty or maliciousness down in his spark. He wouldn't understand that some people, mechs and organics both, enjoyed the suffering of others.

"A slave is like a prisoner... who works," Omega said, clearly still trying to put the idea together in his processor. "They don't get paid, and sometimes they're treated badly."

"Basically, yes," Ratchet said. There were more questions coming, he could tell.

"Is being paid very important?" Omega asked. "I am not paid. But you have never treated me badly Ratchet."

"Don't talk like that," Ratchet said, more sharply than he'd meant to. He forced his tone to be more gentle. "You're not a slave Omega. I would never make you do something you don't want to do."

"I want to do what you want me to," Omega said plaintively. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I want you to do what you're comfortable with," Ratchet argued back. "If I ever told you to do something that made you unhappy, or hurt you, or anything like that I would want you to tell me that and... and refuse to do it!"

Omega rumbled again. His processor had been designed to make these kinds of concepts hard for him, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that it had been done to him, and it wasn't fair that it was hurting him now. "What about the Decepticons?" he asked. "Perhaps... perhaps they didn't want to be soldiers anymore?"

Ratchet huffed. "It's not quite the same when a bot is part of the military," he said. "When they signed up they made a promise you see. They promised to do what they were told and follow orders. That's different. Nothing like slavery at all. Nobody forced them into it. Nobody was mistreating our soldiers, and they certainly got paid well enough. It would be just like them to twist things around and pretend, like they weren't jumping at the thought of getting a chance to kill something."

"Megatron said... there were no other jobs for warframes?" More of a question than a statement. Omega was still struggling.

"I came online just before the start of the second period of expansion," Ratchet told him. "I remember what it was like before the warframes had something to keep them occupied. In the bad parts of Cybertron there was violence in the streets every night. A bot couldn't walk around alone for fear of being jumped by criminals. There were break-ins of businesses and houses, crime rings demanding protection pay, rampant use of substances... and it was all down to warframes with nothing better to do. They were built to be violent. Built to kill things. They were never going to be capable of any other kind of job!"

The deckplates shuddered again. Ratchet had the impression almost of... a flinch?

"Ratchet. Aren't I a warframe?" Omega asked very quietly.

"Ah slag it Omega, you're nothing like that!" Ratchet said quickly, putting both servos on the console in front of him in what he hoped was a comforting way. "You were built far later than any of those reprobates, and your makers had learned a lot from past mistakes. You don't have a nasty strut in your frame, you understand me? I know you would never do anything bad."

There was a considering silence. When Omega spoke again it was still not much more than a whisper though. "I only know what bad is because you have taught me Ratchet. Shouldn't I just... know?"

"You think every newspark comes online knowing right from wrong by instinct?" Ratchet said. "That's not quite how it works. Their caretakers and their teacherbots teach them what they need to know. Now sure, some bots are sweet and soft-sparked and some can be cruel. It's simply the responsibility of their elders to teach them that being cruel is not going to get them anywhere in life."

"But the other warframes..."

"There's only so much teaching can do," Ratchet said, unable to stop himself entirely from scowling. "Sometimes base coding is stronger than any lessons anyone can give. You don't need to worry about that though. Evil isn't in your coding, trust me on that."

"Okay Ratchet." Omega sounded a little more confident now. Less distressed. Some of the uncomfortable pulsing of Ratchet's spark began to ease off. "Thank you for answering my questions. I knew you would help me to understand."

"You can always come to me with anything old friend," Ratchet told him. Of course while that might be one problem down, Omega hadn't been the only bot having sweet poison dripped into his audials. "Now, where's Bulkhead? I think I need to speak to him too."

\----

Ultra Magnus had never had a particularly overdeveloped sense of curiosity. Personally he found this to be an advantage in life, although he knew most other bots didn't see it that way. It was just one more thing that made him, in their optics, 'boring'. That was fine. He had never been one to seek out the approval of others needlessly. Life was most comfortable and reassuring when it was orderly, structured, rigid. Curiosity meant pushing boundaries. Asking questions. Changing things that did not need to be changed. In a way one might argue that it was curiosity that had put them here, in a universe not their own.

Brainstorm had many things to answer for. Magnus intended to get those answers, albeit at a more appropriate time than this one.

According to all theories, science was supposed to have rules. It was supposed to be conducted in an organised, rational, methodical manner. Perceptor understood that. He did what he was supposed to do. However his methods were ones that were not copied by the rest of the Autobot Science Corp. Wheeljack had always been chaotic and his experiments frequently went awry, and Brainstorm sometimes seemed to be engaged in some kind of one-up's-mechship with him.

Perhaps the new intel that Brainstorm had been a Decepticon for many vorns now should change his analysis of Autobot scientists. Magnus hadn't had the chance to examine that closely yet.

In any case his internal point had been that curiosity had gotten them into their current mess, and Magnus was not about to let the slightest bit of curiosity from himself jeopardise their chances of getting out of it again. Yes, this was an unprecedented situation. Yes it was possible that examining the course of history in this universe might provide valuable insights regarding their own. Yes, he wanted to know what his own counterpart here was like, particularly since he apparently led the Autobot faction. However none of that information was vital. This wasn't the war, where it was possible to permit the kind of curiosity that might better be termed information gathering for the purposes of situational analysis. Better to keep his helm down and focus on doing whatever it took to return to their own reality.

It had been surprising that Rodimus apparently agreed with him. The more impetuous of their ship's Captains often showed a level of curiosity that interfered with the stated goals of their mission and had frequently ended up in the kind of uncomfortably idiosyncratic and ludicrous situations that life aboard the _Lost Light_ was frequently becoming known for. It should have been satisfying that he was finally showing some sense of responsibility towards their quest.

So why did it not feel comforting?

Ultra Magnus ducked through another too-small door into what he believed to be the rec room. Certainly most of this world's Autobots were gathered here, refueling before takeoff. However the scheduled departure time had already come and gone, which was the reason he was walking around Omega Supreme's corridors trying to find out the reason why.

He had evidently stumbled into a tense situation. Bulkhead was standing in the centre of the room with his servos up in a defensive position being menaced in the way of concerned medics by Ratchet. The snippet of conversation he'd caught before it dried up upon his entrance had not sounded particularly medical though he had to admit. Optimus was also present, looking troubled and concerned, along with Arcee and Sari Sumdac, the latter of whom was standing on a table so as to better take part in the proceedings. A quick check of his memory banks confirmed that Bumblebee was meant to be on Decepticon guard duty at the present time, having just taken over shift from Bulkhead.

Rodimus was back in the berth they had been loaned catching up on a quick recharge cycle. That just left their Megatron unaccounted for. Despite every piece of historical data Magnus had warning him that Megatron was too dangerous to be let out of sight for a moment - quite apart from the long list of laws he had broken over the vorns - the warlord's behaviour since coming on board the _Lost Light_ had been without fault. Magnus had every intention of allowing him the fresh start he deserved.

"I just don't see that we did anything so wrong," Bulkhead said after a few moments of awkward silence in the room, evidently returning to the argument he'd been having before Magnus arrived.

"Nothing _wrong_ ?" Ratchet asked incredulously. "You were meant to be guarding Megatron, not _talking_ to him." He said the last few words in an angry whisper, but the Magnus armour had sensitive audials. He heard it clearly.

"Look, I know you're just trying to be careful Ratchet, but I wanted to hear what he had to say for himself," Bulkhead said. "Y'know, I thought he'd make excuses for all the violence and the war. For getting good bots killed." There was something almost ashamed in the way he said that. Ultra Magnus was aware he had walked into something that the Autobots of this world would rather he not have heard, that much was obvious from their body language. It might have been wiser to simply leave, but they had not asked that he do so, and this might constitute an operational concern.

It was not curiosity.

"I didn't think he'd make _sense_ ," Bulkhead continued. "Like... Autobots actually did something to make the 'Cons wanna kill us."

Ratchet's engine revved. "He was _lying_ Bulkhead," he said insistently. "What on Cybertron would possess you to believe a word out of his mouth?"

"Hey, it's not just Bulkhead," Sari said, jumping to the defence of a bot who was clearly her close friend. Magnus wondered if they were amica, although he had never had the confidence to introduce that concept to the humans he had known. It would not have been unlawful, yet it still would have _felt_ like skirting the edges of the Tyrest Accord. "I believe him too."

"Sari," Ratchet said, sighing. "You're very young, and you don't have any experience of Cybertron or of our war. I don't want to call you naive, but..."

"No," Sari said insistently. "Don't give me that scrap. It's not _about_ that! It's... it's something else." She put her hand to her chest uneasily, struggling to put words to her meaning. Magnus' analytical subroutines pinged; her hand was on the same spot where Rodimus had felt pain after Omega had crashed. The place where the Matrix had sat.

In all likelihood that was mere coincidence however.

"I just _knew_ he was telling the truth," Sari continued. "The same way I knew how to program the spacebridge, or how to help Arcee."

Brow ridges raised all round the room. Lacking context, Magnus was unsure what to make of what she was saying. Sounding sceptical, Optimus asked, "Sari, are you trying to say that this has something to do with the Allspark energy?"

"I don't know what else it could be," Sari said.

"Even if that _is_ what this is," Ratchet said. "The Allspark doesn't work like that. It isn't some kind of... lie detector."

"Ratchet," Optimus said, the reprimand clear in his voice. "The Allspark is the conduit to the Well. It's a holy artefact. If it suggests that Megatron might have been telling at least _some_ of the truth, I'm inclined to believe it."

"A holy artefact?" Ratchet said. "Where did you pick that up? Is Jazz converting you to the cyber-ninja faith now?"

"Do you really believe it isn't?" Optimus asked.

"Oh please. Yes, the Allspark is a powerful artefact, but it's simply part of the natural life cycle of our species, not something handed down from an all-seeing invisible deity. Ascribing some kind of supernatural intent to it would be like going back to believing in Primus - an outmoded superstition."

"You don't believe in Primus?" The words slipped out before Magnus could stop them. The surprise was simply too great. Oh, plenty of mechs had their faith in Primus, Unicron and the Guiding Hand eroded by the horrors of war, but atheism wasn't exactly the most common position for a mech to take even now.

The whole group of them were looking at him now, disbelief in multiple sets of optics. "You do?" Ratchet asked. "That common for warframes where you're from?"

"Of course," Ultra Magnus said, still feeling slightly stunned. "For most mechs I know. I take it the same is not true here."

"I don't know what warframes believe in," Ratchet said, "but no." He continued to look at Magnus suspiciously for a few moments, then seemed to shake himself out of it. "That's quite beside the point," he said. "Bulkhead, Sari, there's no reason to believe that any of what Megatron told you was the truth. You should keep that in mind, not jump on whatever propaganda he tried to shove on you." His glare shot over towards Magnus again. "And you, big bot. You can tell your friend the same."

"I think that's enough now Ratchet," Optimus said, likely seeing the same disheartened attitude from the pair that Magnus was picking up. "I'm sure they've learned their lesson." Perhaps it was just the long experience that Magnus had with their own Optimus, but he could tell this younger version was not as certain as he seemed. Whatever exactly Bulkhead had shared with the group had put some doubts into his head.

"If I might interrupt," Ultra Magnus said, seeing a natural break in the conversation. "Will we be heading off soon?"

"Soon as possible," Ratchet told him. "I can't wait to get you lot out of our dimension."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories, apologies and meetings.

Rodimus, Megatron and Ultra Magnus were finally on their way back to the ship. Brainstorm wondered if they would wait until they got back to their own dimension to hold his trial, or whether they would just get straight down to business. They needed him to get home, so they couldn't do anything too fatal to him, and if they didn't believe that then Perceptor would almost certainly correct them. There was one bot that was on his side on this ship at least, which made his spark futz with pleasure any time he thought about it. Looked like he'd finally come up with an invention that had impressed Percy after all this time. Just a pity it had to be the one that also marked his greatest failure thus far as well.

Percy didn't seem to mind about that bit. All the awkward, difficult, emotional history behind it that had driven him on for so long. All of it empty now... He hadn't expected that Perceptor would finally start to notice him properly in the aftermath. Losing Quark forever, his only chance to change that gone, had somehow won him the favour of one of the few living bots he really cared about.

That was maudlin. He was trying not to be maudlin. Trying to focus on fixing his mistakes before the chance to do so was taken away from him. That meant getting them home - although that was more Roddy's mistake than his own - and apologising to his best friend. Which was why he was currently standing outside Chromedome's quarters steeling up the courage to knock.

He wasn't usually this indecisive. On the other hand his decisions usually involved the possibility of destruction on a mass scale so if he made the wrong choice it wasn't as though he would be around to appreciate the consequences of it. Emotions were different. Emotions didn't destroy the fabric of space-time around you... just your spark. He tried to bring his servo up to the door, but his thoughts kept returning to the possible consequences for Chromedome and him both.

How angry was Chromedome? Talking to Tailgate hadn't given him an answer about that, and he couldn't have gotten Rewind alone to ask him even if there had been more time. Domey was barely letting his conjunx out of his sight right now, not when he'd lost him once already.

The door in front of him slid open. Chromedome stared at him. "Are you going to stand there all day," he asked, "or are you going to come in?"

Brainstorm's wings twitched before he could stop them. "Are you going to let me in?" he asked in reply.

Chromedome ex-vented, and stood aside. "Come on then," he said.

Brainstorm didn't feel any better once he was over the threshold. The rooms were no different to the last time he had been in here, which had also been under pretty dire circumstances now he thought about it. At this rate he would soon be associating Chromedome and Rewind's quarters with bad news.

Rewind looked up from the desk by the wall and slid off his chair. "I was wondering when you'd show up Brainstorm," he said, gathering up a small pile of datapads he had been working on. "I'll just give you two a bit of space. Domey, I'll be helping Perceptor record data in his lab. Find me when you're done."

The uncomfortable silence his words dropped into was broken again by the hiss of the door opening and closing behind him, and then Brainstorm and Chromedome were alone together. Brainstorm didn't want to do this. He couldn't predict the outcome, was afraid it couldn't be a good one, but he had come this far. Too late to back out now.

"I... came to apologise to you," he said. There wasn't any point in smalltalk, not that they had ever been the kind of mechs for that. "For lying."

Chromedome didn't say anything at first, and Brainstorm knew he was hitching his wings higher. Normally he didn't have these kind of physical tells, but things had always been different with Chromedome for some reason. "You must have had a reason," Chromedome said eventually. "I can usually tell when people are lying to me, but I never picked anything up from you. You've always been a good friend to me, sometimes better than I deserve. If you became a Decepticon because you hated Autobots all along, you wouldn't have been able to fake that so well. So there must have been another reason."

"It was a means to an end." It was more difficult than he'd expected to explain. When he had thought he was dying, back there on a factory floor in the distant past, it had been easy. He had wanted someone else to remember Quark besides himself, and Rewind had seemed the perfect choice. Rewind had told Perceptor, and he must have told Chromedome, but the link between that and turning traitor must not be as obvious to them as it had been to him when he'd needed to make that choice.

Chromedome cocked his head, listening patiently. Waiting.

He could use words, but... he wanted Chromedome to understand, to really  _ understand _ . Words didn't feel like they could possibly be enough. Brainstorm bent his head forwards, put digits to the back of his neck. "I want you to see," he said. "See why, and see my apology. That'll make it right."

Chromedome's visor couldn't communicate the same range of emotions as standard optics, but Brainstorm knew him well enough to read his surprise. "I would never do that to you," he said. "It's too dangerous for the both of us. Besides which I would be breaking a promise."

Oh yes. The promise. "If you don't break it for me, it'll be for something else," he said. Chromedome bristled. It was a low blow, and he probably shouldn't have said it, but they had promised to be honest with each other. Which was another reason he needed to apologise. He had made that promise knowing he wasn't going to be able to keep it.

At first Brainstorm thought he might have strengthened Chromedome's resolve not to get out his needles, but apparently reverse psychology wasn't as strong as the effects of mnemosurgery addiction. He didn't have any idea what that rush was like himself but it had been described to him enough times. Power, control, the charge of energy that was soaked up from the other mech's systems... it didn't matter whether they were willing or not, alive or not, or exactly what he was getting up to in their processors. It felt the same, and it only got better the deeper the mnemosurgeon went.

Chromedome was never going to give it up, so why pretend otherwise even for Rewind's sake? There would always be an excuse. There would always be some situation where it was necessary. At least they both might get something out of this.

"Just... be as relaxed as you can," Chromedome said softly, as the needles slid out from his fingers with a soft whisper of metal on metal. "Think about what you want to show me. It can be disorienting, but try not to fight it. You're much more likely to hurt either of us if you do."

The bite of needles into his neck was a quick there and gone, barely perceptible. Then they were somewhere else entirely. Inside his memories. Inside his mind.

_ His servos were sure and steady as they moved over the workbench, braiding wires into circuitry, setting gates and switches and relays. It was mindless work, not complicated. It just took time. That was his function here, to free up the processors of the real scientists for the important work that would serve the Autobot cause and turn the tide of the war. Brainstorm found it almost soothing. He didn't know why the other scientists didn't want to do this - it certainly helped  _ him _ think. _

_ From time to time he risked looking away from his work and over at the other mech in the room. Quark was deep in concentration with his own part of the experiment, working through the equations on a datapad. He was oblivious to Brainstorm watching him. Quark wasn't like most of the others here. Part of that was his frame. Unlike most of the other bots sparked before the war started, he hadn't chosen to receive any upgrades to his plating or to have any kind of internal weaponry installed. As a result he was still as slender and sleek as he had always been. A civilian down to the struts. _

_ Not like Brainstorm. Not like any of the other MTO bots he had met since he'd been brought online - not that he had much or indeed any kind of life outside of the walls of the K'th Kinsere Facility. One look at him showed that he had been made for war. He was a flightframe, for Primus' sake, not something useful for scientific endeavours like Quark's electron microscope alt. His function was as a lab assistant, and as a bodyguard if it came to that. _

_ It had been made very clear to Brainstorm when he came online that if the facility here came under attack, he was to make sure the scientists got out alive even if he had to give his own life to do it. He understood that. If Quark was in danger, it wouldn't even be a hardship. _

_ Quark wasn't just different because of that civilian frame though. It was his attitude too. Brainstorm wasn't going to claim he was much of a judge of character, but Quark was... kind. That was the only word for it. Soft at spark. He was polite and gentle around Brainstorm and actually treated him like he was a colleague, rather than an unsparked drone. He talked to him like a person. Most of the other scientists never even looked at him unless it was to give him an order. They moved around him and talked over him and stared him down if he even thought of asking a question. _

_ Quark let him ask questions. He even answered them. It was obvious that Quark enjoyed teaching, and he had even confessed to Brainstorm once that it had been an ambition of his before the war, not that the Functionalist faction in the Senate would have permitted it. He seemed to take pride in how quickly Brainstorm picked things up, and he had even asked him his opinion on some of the projects they were working on once or twice. _

_ It was impossible to describe the sensation that flared in Brainstorm's spark during those moments. It was warmth, it was... soft. It made him feel overcharged and weightless all at once. He didn't have words to describe it. His education had been MTO-limited, and there were so many things he didn't know. He just knew he wanted to be around Quark all the time. That simply looking at him made that agonisingly beautiful feeling return. _

_ How could something so sweet also be so painful? _

_ It was yearning, it was wanting to touch, but... he didn't dare. This wasn't for him. This wasn't what he was for. _

"You loved him so much." That was Chromedome's voice, as they broke out of the memory. Shapes and sounds dissolved into formlessness, a grey expanse where he and Chromedome stood alone. Chromedome's visor sparked flares of energy driven by emotion. He had been feeling just what Brainstorm was feeling, just as intense, and his friend had always been a romantic. It wasn't a quality that survived well over the four million years of Cybertron's recent history. It had certainly done Chromedome more harm than good.

"Of course I did," Brainstorm replied. That love hadn't changed much over the years, but the bitterness had grown worse and then mellowed, deepening the exquisite agony every time he allowed himself to simply  _ feel _ .

"You weren't treated well there." The change of topic was a relief. Without hope to protect him anymore, thinking about Quark was simply too painful. "Was that why you became a Decepticon? Because you're an MTO? Did... did the Autobots drive you away?"

"Because the Decepticons treat their MTOs so much better than we do," Brainstorm replied, letting his engines rev derisively. "No, it wasn't that." He focused on another memory, something else he wanted to show. Another piece of the puzzle to help Chromedome understand. It came more fragmentary this time. Pieces and snatches of events and emotions that he hoped he'd stitched into a story that made sense.

_ K'th Kinsere had fallen. The Autobots had pushed back against the Decepticon advance on the city, but even with reinforcements it hadn't been enough. They had faltered and then they had broken and the survivors had fled the field. The city had fallen, and so had the research facility there. _

_ The facility where Quark was. The facility where Brainstorm would still have been, if Quark hadn't pushed their superiors to actually pay attention and notice the MTO they'd assigned there as a lab assistant had far more potential than they thought. Brainstorm hadn't wanted to leave despite his ambition to prove himself, and then he had been forced to explain why. He had finally summoned the courage to confess what he felt... and he had been rejected. _

_ Nicely. Oh so nicely. Quark had gently explained that he thought of him as a student, of himself as a mentor, and nothing more than that. It had been just as painful as Brainstorm had expected, but... it made him realise that Quark was right. He did have to leave, take up the place he'd been offered at the New Institute. _

_ Except now the facility was gone, and Quark was either a prisoner or dead. _

_ It wasn't rational to think that if he'd been there he might have been able to save him. Much more likely he would be dead too. Logic didn't help though. The voice in the back of his head was still there. You failed to save him. He's gone because of you. _

_ He might not be dead though. There wasn't a great deal of consistency in how Decepticons dealt with Autobot prisoners. It could be torture, or execution, or ransom, or forced labour... The options were too many to be comforting. But there was a chance at least, wasn't there? _

Hope. Hope was always the worst of it. Hope had never worked out for him. First he had hoped that Quark was still alive, then he had hoped he could figure out a way to go back and save him. Both times that hope had only led to more pain. It would have been better not to hope, but apparently he just wasn't capable of that.

_ Grindcore. Quark  _ had  _ been captured, and that's where they had taken him. To a place that Autobots went to die. No-one came back from Grindcore. It was a well known fact. The intelligence division had tallied the numbers of prisoners that were taken there, and they should have run out of space a long time ago if a prison was really all that it was. So bots were dying there. Being killed there most likely. _

_ Quark hadn't died at K'th Kinsere, but he was certainly dead by now. It had been too long. _

_ If Brainstorm had known this before... he would have done  _ something _. It didn't matter that he had no idea what. He would have... invented something. A weapon, a device, some machine to get him in there and escape with Quark, or if that wasn't possible in time at least he could have destroyed the place and given Quark and the other prisoners there a quick death, rather than whatever drawn out horror the Decepticons would have had for them. _

_ He was too late. Again. He would always be too late. _

_ The idea blossomed like the flux of some overheated processor. If time kept being the problem, then surely there had to be some way to remove time from the equation all together. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. Time was his enemy, and he would have to defeat it to save the mech he loved. _

Back to the grey in-between. Just short moments between memories. "I still don't understand," Chromedome said, his voice louder, more real than the ghosts of recollections. "I can tell you hated the 'cons for what they did to him. So why?"

"There wasn't another choice," Brainstorm said.

_ He scanned the inventory list again as thought that might make the parts he needed suddenly appear. War was eating through their resources at an uncomfortable rate, and he could only skim off the top what he knew wouldn't be missed. Right now, that wasn't a lot. He had managed to assemble some of the parts for the time machine by claiming they had been used for failed experiments, but there was only so far that lie was going to get him. Things were too tight now. He had to send requests for authorisation to Wheeljack now for everything he wanted to do, and if those requests didn't make sense scientifically then he was definitely going to notice. _

_ Pit take this whole war! He was trying to save a life here! More than that, he was trying to save an uncountable number of lives, if only he could make it so that the war had never happened. Couldn't Primus or Fate or the Universe or whatever give him a break? _

_ The Decepticons weren't having this problem. Brainstorm knew that because it kept coming up in briefing sessions. The intelligence division was good at its job, and had sent back plenty of reports about the well-stocked laboratories of 'con facilities. Shockwave's subordinates didn't have to ask his permission for every little thing. They could try strange and outlandish experiments that Autobot science no longer could afford to attempt. There was a standing order to capture Decepticon supply convoys whenever possible as a result. _

_ Even if he confessed to what he was trying to do, which would also mean admitting to the possibility of collapsing their whole universe in a paradox reaction, Wheeljack wouldn't agree to give him the materials he needed. They simply weren't there to be given. _

_ If things continued this way, the whole project would simply grind to a halt. That couldn't be allowed to happen. _

_ It wasn't the first time he had thought about this, nor the first time he had wracked his processor trying to find a solution. There only seemed to be the one. He tried to come up with something,  _ anything _ else, but he didn't have any more luck this time than all the others. The Decepticons had what he needed. The Autobots didn't. _

_ He had to defect. _

_ The thought provoked disgust deep in his coding. It wasn't to do with morality. Brainstorm knew his personal concepts around that area were somewhat shaky. He hadn't been onlined with a strong sense of right and wrong, and it wasn't a part of the flash-training given to MTOs beyond the basics of the Autobot code and an admonishment to copy their superiors and do what they did. Of course that relied on one's superiors also having a strong moral code. _

_ Brainstorm built weapons. Things that killed people; lots of people. He wasn't squeamish, and he understood necessity. Win the war at any cost - they could worry about ethics afterwards. No, his disgust was personal. It was knowing what Quark must have suffered through at Grindcore. _

_ In the end though, defecting didn't really matter. If he was successful, then all of this would never have happened. There would be no Autobots and no Decepticons. No factions. He wouldn't even exist, much less have betrayed his own. _

_ He had to succeed. No other option was acceptable. _

That was the last memory he'd wanted Chromedome to see. The trajectory that had pulled him here, to this present, where his failure was plain. All the emotions wrapped up in the decisions he had made. All the pain. He hoped it was enough. Chromedome would either understand, or he wouldn't. Or rather he was sure to understand, but it would either be enough for him to offer his forgiveness, or it wouldn't.

"You really didn't see any other way?" Chromedome asked him quietly. The pair of them stood in nothingness, upon nothingness, staring at each other. Brainstorm shook his head. There was no ability to lie in here. Not that  _ he _ knew of anyway.

"We do all sorts of things for love," Chromedome said after a while. "I don't think I'm in a position to judge."

"Is that... Are we okay?" He could probably feel how much Brainstorm wanted things to be right between them again.

"Yes," Chromedome eventually said, after a few too-long moments. "I suppose we are."

\----

Nobody had said there wasn't meant to be a welcoming committee. That was important. Forgetting to forbid something was the same as giving permission, in Whirl's book, and that meant he had every right to be here. He wasn't even on his own. Cyclonus and Tailgate were both here as well. Cyclonus wanted to keep an optic on him, which okay fair enough, whereas Tailgate was just as curious about the Autobots of this world as Whirl was. He'd been listening to the conversation between Percy and Rodimus - this was some kind of wacky alternate dimension deal.

How could he give up the chance to see what the locals were like? Anything was possible! They could all have tentacles for arms and ten optics for all he knew. He wasn't about to miss the opportunity of a lifetime. They were the only bots in existence right now who would be able to say they had been to another reality, and he wanted to get a really good story out of this.

"I wonder what their ship is like," Tailgate said, almost bouncing up and down on his pedes. "It must be small enough to fit inside the hanger but... do you think their technology is the same?"

"Roddy didn't say much," Whirl grumbled, giving his rotors a lazy spin for something to do while they waited.

Perceptor had been tracking the approaching ship's drive signal from the bridge which was how he had known it was time to bust aft and get over here with plenty of time to spare before it docked. Apparently he had miscalculated some. He didn't like waiting around. Didn't much like boredom whatever the circumstances.

"Is that something?" Tailgate asked, pointing out at the starscape and sliver of Earth visible from the hangar bay doors. Whirl squinted his single optic. There was something moving across the face of the black. Gradually as they watched the shape got bigger and bigger, revealing itself as a blocky, snub-nosed shuttle painted in red and orange. A bit garish for something that was going to burn through re-entry a bunch'a times, but whatever.

The craft was pretty large, but it didn't seem to have any difficulty in negotiating into the hanger and settling down gently on the floor. The bay doors slid slowly closed behind it and automated systems began to pump air back into the space so that sound could carry naturally. Sure a bot could use short-range radio, but who really wanted to do that if they didn't have to. Unscrupulous bots could slip a little something subliminal into the signalling if you weren't careful.

It seemed to take a little longer than he woulda thought necessary for the shuttle's airlock to cycle open, and then some familiar bots were stepping out. Yup, there was the command trio. They probably shouldn't keep going off on away missions all together like that just in case they all got violently offlined but if they wanted to take that risk it was their own business. Maybe if they did bite it the chain of command would get down to Whirl eventually. Wouldn't that be fun?

Tailgate craned up on his pedes, trying to peer inside the shuttle. Yeah, where were the locals? Someone had to be crewing that thing, 'cos surely they wouldn't have just given it over as a gift. Weren't  _ they _ curious? Didn't they want to see the freakish bots from a world unlike their own?

Then something did dart out of the shuttle, though it was far too small to be a bot. Whirl's targeting subroutines focused in on it, looked for spark and processor signatures, and picked up nothing. His programming flipped from mechanical to organic automatically and... yup! A human! An  _ Earthling _ . He felt excitement almost vibrating his plating. Yeah! He got to finally meet one of these human critters!

"Sari! Come back here! No-one said you could go outside!" Someone else ran out chasing the human - an actual bot this time. Little guy, not much bigger than a minibot, with nice red and blue plating just scratched up and welded enough to see he could take a beating and probably give one out too. He was followed by a chunky dull-green mech  about Rodimus' height depending on if you included the kibble. Both of 'em looked kinda worried.

"I wanna meet them," the human said, darting away from the servos of her pursuers. "Are we really going to come all this way and not at least meet them?"

Ah, a lifeform after his own spark. Whirl preened a little to make sure he looked appropriately badaft, and strode forwards. Rodimus, Magnus and Megatron finally noticed him as he began to approach, rapidly followed by an excited Tailgate with Cyclonus trailing after.

"Ah, scrap," he heard Rodimus say. "What are these guys doing here?" Rude.

They had also managed to get the attention of the little human and the two strangers. Various sets of optics fixed on Whirl, going bright and wide in surprise. He stopped and struck a suitably impressive pose, one that emphasised his guns. Showing off? Him? Why absolutely. "Welcome to the  _ Lost LightI! _ " he said, spreading his claws wide.

"Oh Allspark," the red and blue mech said quietly, freezing in place. Frozen in amazement at how awesome Whirl was, naturally.

"Wow," the little human said, staring up and up and up at him. "You're even  _ bigger _ than you looked on the videocall."

\----

Optimus couldn't move. Sari was standing right in front of the warframe utterly vulnerable to attack and he should be getting her clear, but every single one of his self-preservation protocols were screaming at him to stay right where he was. There were a pair of cannon barrels pointing right at his helm. They might not be running hot to fire, but the implicit threat was still the same. The cannons were attached to a gangly warframe at least as tall as Megatron - taller if you counted the vanes that jutted up from his back. He had the same kind of single-opticed helm as Shockwave, and similarly long and vicious-looking claws. He was also holding himself like he was ready to spring into action at any moment.

The other warframes - Rodimus, Megatron and Ultra - were intimidating enough even when they acted like reasonable mechs. He could see why they had left this mech behind, and why they hadn't mentioned much about their crew. Was this a whole ship full of warframes?

Wait. What had Sari said just there? Something about a videocall?

The warframe bent down, the joints of his legs folding in an unnatural, backwards way, resting his clawed servos over his knees. His kibble wasn't familiar, but Optimus thought he might be a rotary frame; an uncommon type. He couldn't look away - didn't dare to - but he could see that there were other mechs behind this one. Another tall warframe, and a mech who seemed much more comfortably sized. Maybe not  _ all _ warframes then.

"You must be one of the locals Rodimus was talking about," the rotary said. "I never met a human before. Been looking forwards to it, I hear you can be wild. What about the techno-organic, you bring that with'ya as well?"

"Uh, no," Sari said, puffing herself up. " _ I'm  _ the techno-organic. My dad was the human."

"Scrap, really? So I haven't even met a human yet after all?" It was difficult to read any kind of expressions on the bot without a real face. Was he annoyed? Simply disappointed?

"Sari," Optimus said warily. "Would you come back over here please? We should be getting back to the ship."

"I've only just met this guy," Sari complained, half-turning to look back at him. Optimus hadn't thought it was possible for him to get more tense. With her back turned, she was even more vulnerable. "Why are we in such a hurry?"

"Yeah buddy, why are you trying to spoil the fun?" the rotary said, his vanes bristling. "I haven't even gotten around to introducing myself yet! I'm the amazing Whirl, the awesome, the indomitable, the unvincable!" He gestured wildly with his claws, inscribing sharp arcs in the air. Optimus tried not to wince as vivid images of what those claws would be capable of doing to delicate plating or organic flesh raced through his processor.

"Uh, that's not a word," Sari replied.

"Yes it is," the warframe insisted.

"Nu-uh," Sari said. "But it's nice to meet you anyway. I'm Sari, like Optimus said. I'm pretty awesome as well when you get to know me. Who are your friends?" She gestured to the other mechs behind Whirl. Whirl however was no longer paying attention. He was staring at Optimus instead.

"Optimus?" he asked, resetting his optic a couple of times. "This little guy? Optimus?"

Optimus had a feeling he knew where this was going after the degree of surprise learning his name had caused for the other mechs from the other reality. He did understand it, given what they had said of the mech who shared his name. The mech who was obviously significantly more important, more impressive, more accomplished and just all around... more... than he was.

"That's right," he admitted.

"Oh Primus, that's hilarious," the rotary said, slamming a claw down on the deck as he started to laugh. "Oh slag, this itty bitty mini? Optimus Prime? Oh, someone get Rewind down here. We need to get this filmed. I wanna call up the Prime the minute we get back and watch the look on his face when we show him this, it'll be  _ priceless _ ."

Optimus felt the heat building up behind his faceplates. He didn't measure up. He knew that. It didn't mean there was any call to rub it in like this.

"Hey!" Sari shouted, actually daring to run closer and boot the rotary in the only area she could reach, which was part of his pede. "Don't you talk about Optimus like that! You're just a big meanie!"

"Yeah, that's Whirl," Rodimus said, coming over to intervene finally. "You get used to it."

"What are the three of you doing here anyway?" Ultra Magnus said. Optimus was starting to feel slightly safer with the backup of three heavy-duty warframes, although that in itself was strange enough to make his processor spin. "A welcoming committee was  _ not _ requested."

"No-one said we couldn't," Whirl replied. Oh, so he was a killing machine with the maturity level of Bumblebee, Optimus thought to himself. What a wonderful combination.

"It wasn't just Whirl's fault sir," a new voice said. Optimus finally dragged his attention from the bot all his systems were flagging as the main threat to take a better look at the other two new bots in the hanger. The one who had spoken was about Bumblebee's size, the first of these mechs he'd seen who actually looked  _ normal _ . It was a surprising relief. Their dimension wasn't just all warmechs then. Thank goodness.

"I wanted to see the strange bots as well," the mech continued. "Cyclonus came to keep us out of trouble."

Cyclonus must be the last of the trio then. Another worryingly massive warframe with purple plating, imposing horns, and some kind of massive sword carried on his back.

"Keeping you out of trouble would have been stopping you from coming to the hanger in the first place," Ultra said. "However I sympathise with the difficulty of getting  _ you _ to act appropriately."

"Oh Magnus, you know you love me really," the rotary said, putting his claws up under his helm and flickering his optic on and off in a rather disturbing manner. Ultra Magnus managed not to react, an impressive feat.

"Now that you've come on board," Megatron said, looking over at Optimus and Bulkhead behind him, "you would naturally be welcome to stay for a brief visit if you so wished. After your assistance in returning, a tour would be the least we could do to thank you."

"Hey," Rodimus hissed under his breath. "We don't have time to be giving  _ tours _ . We need to let these nice bots get on their way so we can get back home."

"We wouldn't want to be an inconvenience," Optimus said. Personally he wasn't exactly keen to stay on board longer than necessary. He didn't know how many other bots were on board, and how many of them would make him feel as on edge as Whirl. A part of him pointed out that he ought to be giving them at least the benefit of the doubt, but old habits died hard apparently.

"Oh, come on Optimus," Sari said. "This would be so cool!"

"You certainly would not be an inconvenience," Megatron said, ignoring the venomous look that Rodimus was giving him. "As I said, you should feel welcome here."

"Ratchet will be expecting us back on board," Optimus pointed out.

"Invite him too," Megatron replied. "I for one would be keen to show him that you have nothing to fear from us."

There was something... some undertone in his voice that made Optimus hesitate. But... nothing he was saying was unreasonable. There were no excuses Optimus could give that wouldn't just sound rude and prejudicial.

"Let me talk to the others," Optimus said. "Come on Sari. If you want to see the ship that badly, it isn't just me that you have to convince."

"Oh, I'll be convincing all right," Sari said, an expression of extreme determination spreading over her face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron stalls for time and puts his plans into place. Rodimus just wants what's best for his crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a bridging chapter. I feel it's a bit meh, but we should get on towards Cybertron soon and things should get pretty interesting there.

Megatron's motivations in attempting to persuade Optimus and his crew to spend a little longer on the _Lost Light_ were hardly selfless. He was not attempting to build the bonds of friendship here, merely to win a little more time for his own ends. He hoped his words had been convincing enough for them. The Optimus of this world was a strange mirror of the one he knew, but there was one obvious commonality in their fondness for humans. Sari Sumdac clearly wished to learn more about the _Lost Light_ , and he believed that Optimus would bow to her wishes in the end. What did it cost him to do so?

Whirl's 'welcoming committee' might have jeopardised his plan, but it seemed the rotary had not put Sari off at all. The same could not be said for Optimus. His fear had been clearly apparent. Bulkhead had been harder to read. He was obviously preoccupied, and Megatron was fairly certain he knew what weighed so heavily on his processor. His beliefs about his faction and the history of his world had been deeply shaken. It was to his credit that he paid them due mind rather than simply dismissing them as the words of an 'evil' Decepticon.

At present they were still waiting in the hanger to see what decision Optimus' team came to. The wait was not unpleasant. It gave him further time to think and plan. He turned lines of argument over in his head. He had never lost the skill of giving speeches, but it had been some while since he had last needed to convince someone of anything before his trial. When he had given orders he expected them to be obeyed, and to his regret violence had become an easier tool than words to enforce that. There had been no-one left to persuade to the cause of the Decepticons. Joining the _Lost Light_ had forced him to begin to polish those skills once more, but he was not well trusted and it was often easier to allow their beliefs about him to act as tools to manipulate their behaviour.

Rodimus in particular had never been shy in expressing his dislike. Convincing him would not be easy, however it also might not be strictly necessary. As co-Captains, their votes were equal when it came to decisions. It was Ultra Magnus as their Third who carried the decider, and he would be easier to sway. Megatron liked Ultra Magnus. He was so pleasingly logical, well-mannered and well-organised. He reminded him of the ever-loyal Soundwave in many ways, and that was a comparison meant entirely as a compliment. Magnus might not see it that way, which was why he never intended to mention it.

Megatron was jolted from his thoughts by movement at the corner of his visual field. He looked up to see Whirl edging towards them. "Soooo," the rotary said. "A tour, huh? Which would mean you'd need a tour _guide_?"

"No," Megatron said at once. Better to make this very clear since Whirl had already demonstrated today that he had his own interpretation of sensible conduct. "Absolutely not."

"And _why_ not?" Whirl said, narrowing his optic. "You're just prejudiced against me."

An interesting accusation. It had been some time now since Whirl had attacked him, trying to provoke him into the kind of violence which would signify the breaking of his parole. There hadn't been any further signs of malice any greater than that of any other Autobot, and Megatron had certainly not wished to push things. However he was equally used to _Starscream's_ tactics, which often involved long lulls of seeming serenity before another assassination attempt. True hatred could be hidden, and its apparent absence meant nothing.

Since then Whirl had clearly been trying to avoid him wherever possible, and Megatron had done the same. Long ago he had nursed a particular and personal hatred for this mech, and had made it clear that Whirl's spark was his to offline. Four million years later, weary, worn-out, and with more knowledge of the machinations of fate and the Functionalists that had led to that moment in a prison cell in Iacon, it hardly seemed worth it anymore.

So no, prejudice did _not_ come into it.

"We are trying to put our guests at ease," he replied. "We are not trying to intimidate them or scare them off, thus your services are not required."

"The little'un liked me," Whirl said, sounding almost hurt. Perhaps that was understandable. Being liked was an unusual response to Whirl. Most of his acquaintances seemed to merely tolerate him. "I'm being welcoming! Didn't you see?"

Rodimus and Ultra Magnus looked no more enamoured of the idea of Whirl playing tour guide than Megatron did. "Look," Rodimus said, "you know I hate to say I agree with Megatron about anything, but since he decided to invite these guys on board without asking anyone _else_ if they were okay with it..." The glare he shot at Megatron was particularly poisonous, and Megatron had to hold back a smirk. He should be more mature than to take pleasure in irritating Rodimus. "If they agree to the tour I don't want them to decide we're a threat. We've just about gotten them off that idea."

Whirl's head tilted back and forth on the end of his neck like the dance of a silver-serpent. "I'm only a threat if I wanna be," he said, with dangerous undertones. "You saying I can't be friendly? I can be _real_ friendly. Just ask Cyclonus."

Cyclonus was doing his best to pretend that he wasn't involved in this conversation. It remained a mystery to Megatron why he continued to keep company with Whirl. The mech might have some good qualities buried deep under the layers of defences his various traumas had caused him to develop over the millennia, but given he refused to discuss said trauma and caused variously violent distractions every time someone mentioned Rung's job description, it didn't seem he was ever going to be able to put those defences down.

It really was none of Megatron's business however.

"Whirl, our answer is final," Megatron said. "Rodimus, the _Lost Light_ is yours. Of anyone on board, surely the honour of showing Optimus and his crew around should also be yours."

"Oh, so you invited them in on my behalf and you're not even gonna do any of the work?" Rodimus asked, looking deeply suspicious. Not without reason, admittedly, and Megatron had to admit this particular attempt to manipulate the situation was not his best work. Such were the limitations of last-breem plans.

"Optimus and the other Autobots of this dimension have been good enough to offer us the benefit of the doubt despite our appearance being inherently alarming to them," Megatron said smoothly. "They have assisted us to return to the _Lost Light_. I am merely trying to repay the favour while there is still a chance to do so."

"Hey, we've helped them plenty already," Rodimus said, but he was starting to weaken on the idea, Megatron could tell. "Look, Magnus, you've been real quiet about all this. What do you think?"

Magnus cleared his intake. "Our duty to our own reality is clear," he said. "However it is unlikely that a few cycles will make any difference to achieving the goal of returning home. Our own role in that is inherently limited; none of us are scientists."

"I hate waiting," Rodimus said, mostly to himself. "Fine, I suppose it won't hurt. And what are _you_ going to be getting up to while I'm busy?" he said, addressing Megatron. "Getting up to no good I bet."

"I had hoped to discuss the logistics of our next steps with Ultra Magnus," Megatron replied. "I know how much you dislike those kind of meetings."

Rodimus shuddered, flaring his plating in exaggerated disgust. "You probably can't do anything too bad with Magnus watching you," he admitted. "I guess they might not even want to see the _Lost Light_ anyway. The version of Ratchet here is super grumpy. I bet he won't exactly be keen."

Whirl butted into the conversation again when he heard that. "Oooh, there's a Ratchet in there as well? Is he as itty bitty as the Prime? Please tell me he is."

"Most of the bots in this dimension appear rather diminutive in comparison to our own," Magnus said, though he would have done better to have simply ignored the question.

Whirl's optic lit up, and he tapped the tips of his claws together in excitement. "I really wanna see," he said. "I love minibots, they're so _cute_."

"Cute and _deadly_ ," Tailgate said insistently, poking the rotary somewhere around the thigh.

"Hahaha, sure," Whirl said. "Suuuurrrrre."

Megatron tried very hard not to roll his optics. No reactions. Mechs like this fed off reactions. It was easier to tell himself that than to stick to it though.

On the other side of the hanger, one of Omega's airlocks cycled open, getting everyone's attention. The group that emerged consisted of Optimus, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Arcee, Jazz and Sari. Ratchet was the only absence. Jazz could potentially be a problem, if he was still Intelligence Division here. He had seemed too caught up in grief to accept such an invitation, but perhaps he hoped for a distraction. On the other hand knowing where he was so as to keep an optic on him was no bad thing.

Optimus cleared his intake as he approached. "Thank you all for your hospitality," he said. "We've decided to accept your invitation." He glanced down at Sari.

"See," the girl said, looking smug. "I told you I was persuasive."

Whirl's quiet buzz of pleasure was just audible. "They're all so _small_ ," he said quietly. Quiet enough that hopefully it hadn't been audible to Optimus and his crew. "Itsy bitsy botsies."

"Ratchet is staying with the ship?" Megatron asked, keeping his tone mild.

"Yes, he was very insistent on it," Optimus replied. "He's worried about our prisoners, and he doesn't want to leave Omega to have to keep an optic on them alone."

Rodimus snorted. "Even if they got out, they've got nowhere to go here," he said. "We helped you catch them the first time, and we would help again." It wasn't very diplomatic, but that was Rodimus. "So, you guys want to see my ship? Follow me!"

"Is Whirl coming with us?" Sari asked, looking over at the rotary hopefully. As expected, none of her friends looked at all enthusiastic about that prospect.

"I've been told I'm not allowed," Whirl said, managing to somehow combine anger and dramatic moping.

"Aww man," Sari said. "Why not?"

"I'm too scary," Whirl said in a melodramatic faux-whisper.

"You're not scary," Sari said, almost laughing. "You're a good guy, I can tell."

"Why thank you little fleshling," Whirl replied, preening. "Sorry, little _cyberfleshling_."

"Sari, I'm sure Whirl has other things to do rather than accompany us," Optimus said. There was a certain strain in his voice.

Rodimus didn't bother to restrain his own roll of the optics. "If Sari wants Whirl and his friends to come I really don't care. It's up to you guys whether you're comfortable with that."

Megatron knew that expression on Optimus' faceplates, even on this very different version of him; moral guilt. No doubt he wanted to give this newest warframe the benefit of the doubt. For his own part he just wished they would get on with it so he could have a conversation with Ultra Magnus in peace.

Optimus looked around at his team-mates. "Well bots, what do you think?" he asked them.

Arcee narrowed her optics, but spoke with an icy sweetness. "We agreed to see what this ship was like. That includes its crew, now doesn't it? I'm fascinated to learn more." Perhaps there was some of their own Arcee's character in her after all. She might be more than she appeared.

"I don't see the problem," Bulkhead said, with a certain determination. Acting on what the other Megatron had told them both perhaps?

"Any objections then?" Optimus asked, and when nobody spoke up, turned back to Rodimus. "We would be happy to spend more time with any of your crewmembers," he said.

"Fine. Whatever. Let's get this show on the road then," Rodimus said, and strode out of the hanger clearly expecting to be followed. The group trailed out with Whirl, Tailgate and Cyclonus bringing up the rear.

The door hissed closed. Magnus turned towards him.

"You wanted to speak to me alone," he said, frowning. Perceptive of him.

"Not here," Megatron replied, inclining his helm meaningfully towards the still form of Omega Supreme not far away.

"Very well," Magnus said, and gestured for Megatron to lead them where he wanted.

It was difficult to estimate the range of Omega's sensors. He was a shuttle clearly capable of deep space travel, which meant they would be powerful, but not necessarily specialised to scan through metal. Megatron led them past several of the _Lost Light's_ other hangers to a small storage room, although small was only a descriptor with respects to the usual size of storage rooms on board.

"Before you begin," Magnus said, "I should inform you that I overheard a conversation between Ratchet and both Bulkhead and Sari. Should I assume that this matter has something to do with that?"

Ah. That explained something of why Magnus had been aware of his intentions. Whatever his precise suspicions however, he hadn't mentioned anything to Rodimus. That had to be a positive sign.

"I was present for their conversation with the Megatron of this world," Megatron said. "What I learned during that conversation was troubling."

Magnus pinched his nasal ridge, shuttering his optics briefly. "The dealings of this dimension are none of our concern," he said. "Our responsibility is to our quest, to our own world."

"I do not dispute that responsibility," Megatron said "But as Autobots, do we not also have a responsibility to do the right thing and further justice where possible?"

"Don't attempt to use the Code for your own ends," Magnus said, frowning.

"Is it so hard to imagine I believe in what I'm saying?" Megatron asked him. He wasn't lying, not about that anyway. What he wanted to do here _was_ right. Righteous even, to use the term enshrined in Optimus' manifesto of unrealistic moral expectations. He was sure that if he gave it a little thought he could fill a datapad with a list of every time an Autobot had broken their precious Code.

"I... no," Magnus said, looking away. "I do not believe you are lying. So what did your alternate tell you? Ratchet did not refer to specifics."

Megatron began to recount the long, sordid history of this universe. He held back none of the details, the injustices and horrors that had been passed on to him. It was having an effect on Magnus, he could tell. Perhaps part of that was the fact that Magnus' own alternate had been responsible for some of it. "So you can see there is much to be done here," he said to finish. "The Autobots here may have a Code like ours, but if so they strayed from it long ago. Given that we have helped them capture the Decepticons of this world, we would share the responsibility for whatever happens to them."

"You must be aware of what this sounds like," Magnus said quietly.

"That I want to return to my old ways?" Megatron replied. "I understand that it seems like that Magnus, but I have _no_ desire to wash this Cybertron clean in energon. I am not leader of the Decepticons here and I have no wish to take that role from my alternate. I don't know what crimes and atrocities he has committed that might call for justice, but I can tell you this; he _isn't_ me. No more than your alternate is you."

"What exactly are you proposing we do?" Magnus asked.

"We delay returning home," Megatron replied. "Which assumes in any case that Perceptor and Brainstorm are able to find a way back quickly. It may be harder to get back than we might wish. I want to stay here and... yes, I want to fix the system. How that might best be done I do not yet know. But I will never find out if we leave."

Magnus looked him straight in the optics, trying to judge his intentions. Megatron did his best to appear open and honest. That was what he was trying to be; Magnus would not be swayed by pretty lies or false reassurance, and he would not forgive falsehood.

"How can you be sure this will not get out of servo?" Magnus asked. "You must admit there is a history of that with you."

"That much is easy to answer," Megatron said, putting a servo on his shoulder and offering up a small smile. "I will have you and Rodimus to keep me honest. I know I can trust you for that."

\----

Rodimus quietly seethed to himself all through the tour, although he didn't let that stop him from talking up all the best parts of his ship. He was proud of the _Lost Light_ after all. The things he and his crew had done as part of the journey ranked amongst the best things he'd done in his life - although there were some... not so great things in amongst them as well. At least Whirl was _mostly_ behaving himself. Optimus and his crew were starting to relax a bit despite his presence.

'Coincidentally' the path of the tour took them past Percy and Brainstorm's workshop. "Wait out here a second," Rodimus told the group, and stuck his head through the door. Percy was hard at work and being filmed by Rewind, but Brainstorm wasn't around. He was pretty sure he had seen him during the videocall, so it wasn't like he was still locked in the brig. Where was he then? Didn't he get how important this was?

"Any progress?" Rodimus asked hopefully. "When do you think we'll get back home?"

Percy looked up at him, servos coming to a stop over the web of circuits laid out in front of him. "Rodimus. Good, you're back. I assumed you would want me to continue working on a solution to our problems rather than coming to greet you."

"Absolutely," Rodimus replied. "So... progress?"

Perceptor vented. "Minimal as yet, but we have barely begun. Brainstorm's assistance will no doubt be vital to getting home, but I can't give you any estimates about when that might be."

"Yeah, where is he anyway?"

"He had something he needed to do," Rewind said.

"Something more important than getting us home?"

Rewind paused before answering. "Yes," he said. Rodimus frowned.

"Well someone who knows where he is tell him to hurry it up and get on the case," he said. "We need to get away from here. We need to get back to the rest of the crew. Yeah, maybe that's something you can answer for me if there's any time. Why was it just us? Where's everyone else?"

"I have been thinking about that," Perceptor said. "I noticed that everyone who is here was exposed to temporal energies during the time travel incident. The only outlier is Riptide's absence, which potentially throws the pattern off. Still, it seems to follow that the explosion of Brainstorm's time machine fixed on those of us tainted by that energy and took us with it when it ripped through the fabric of reality itself."

"Then shouldn't we have turned up somewhere without the ship?" Rodimus asked, frowning. What Percy said sort of made sense, he guessed. "Where's everyone else?"

"This might be a similar quantum situation to the one which resulted in our doubles," Perceptor suggested. "It is only a hypothesis, but if true then the rest of the crew is safe on board another _Lost Light_ back home. However it is possible the theory appears more attractive because I _hope_ that it is true."

From down near the floor a little figure scurried through the space in the door, a sudden movement that made Rodimus look down reflexively and shift on his pedes. He tried not to overbalance or step on Sari accidentally as she gazed around at the lab. "What are you doing in here?" she asked. "Why don't you want to show us this room?"

"It's not about not wanting you to see something," Rodimus said, glaring down at her. "It's not part of the tour, I just wanted to ask Percy a slagging question."

"Hmmm, I'm pretty sure that's a bad word," Sari said. "My dad would be angry if he knew you said that in front of me."

"Why?" Rodimus asked, baffled.

"I'm technically still a child," Sari said. "Or, maybe a young adult. I don't quite know how it works after the Allspark upgraded me."

That was interesting, but not interesting enough to distract him.

"Anyway, this is just Percy's lab," Rodimus told her. "It's not that interesting really. Boring science stuff. C'mon, there's gotta be something better I can show you."

"Okaaaayyy," Sari said doubtfully, but allowed herself to be ushered back outside into the corridor, where the group of other mechs was patiently waiting. Well, some more patiently than others, which was understandable frankly.

"Is everything okay?" Optimus asked.

"It's fine," Rodimus replied.

"What did Percy say?" Whirl asked.

"No progress yet," Rodimus replied, keeping his answer short. He wasn't that great about keeping a hold on his temper, which could flare up fast at times, and right now it was being tested. Usually his anger was short-lived at least. "Let's keep going. I'm sure these bots have their own important business to get back to."

\----

"Hey, who were all those bots with Rodimus?" Brainstorm asked as he entered the lab after Chromedome. "Are they... from _this_ universe?"

Rewind looked up from where he had been focused on the workbench, the red light of his recorder still softly blinking. "Hi guys," he said. "Did you make up?"

Chromedome nodded, "Brainstorm shared his reasons," he said. "I've forgiven him. It's all in the past now anyway, since the war's over and the time-travel thing didn't work out."

Brainstorm flinched slightly. After re-living some of the memories which had led up to that, the feelings around it were fresh and tender again. The bittersweet eidolon of love, and the fading ghost of hope. Being reminded of his failure didn't exactly help. A thought flickered through his processor; maybe he should have asked Chromedome to do something about all of that while he was still in there. It wasn't more than a passing idea though. Despite the pain, there were good things about his memories of Quark, and he didn't want to give up all of that just for a little peace of spark.

"To answer your former question," Perceptor said, not looking up from tapping on a datapad, "that was indeed Rodimus with a group of Autobots from this reality. He said something about a tour."

"I knew they were giving Rodimus and the others a lift up from Earth, but I suppose it didn't occur to me that they might want to give in to their curiosity or that Rodimus would let them. He seemed very focused on getting home during that videocall of his." Brainstorm understood curiosity, and he was curious himself, but... to be honest the idea of finding out about this world didn't hold the same excitement that he would have expected. He just felt... tired. He wanted to get home and then let whatever was going to happen to him happen.

"Rodimus wanted to know what kind of progress I was making," Percy said.

"He does realise how long it took me to make the time machine the first time around, right?" Brainstorm said. "Vorns, literally. Much longer than vorns. I admit a lot of that was figuring out how to do it, as well as how to get the parts to make it. Awesome as both of us are, I don't think we'll be going anywhere that quickly."

"He's not going to be happy about that," Perceptor said.

" _I'm_ not happy about that," Brainstorm said, grumbling. Sure, the scientific exercise was interesting, but... yeah. Tired. He'd felt a bit better after making up with Chromedome, but his mood was starting to dip again already. "So, we need the parts to rebuild my time machine, and then we need to figure out how exactly burning it affected the fabric of spacetime and why we were spat out at this particular location. Then we can work out how to reverse it."

"And how long do you estimate that might take?" Chromedome asked. Brainstorm hadn't missed that he hadn't mentioned the mnemosurgery to Rewind earlier. Maybe he would when the two of them were alone again. Who wanted to fight with their conjunx in public?

"I mean, a lot less than a vorn I should hope," Brainstorm replied. "I can scrounge a bunch of parts from what's left of the briefcase and then we'll see. Of course if there's stuff I need but we don't have..."

"We need to discuss this with the Captains," Perceptor said. "This may require changes to their plans for our time in this dimension."

"Yeah," Brainstorm said, tapping his chin. "I can throw some kinda presentation together. Make a list of the stuff that I need. There might be junk in the _Lost Light's_ storage I can use. Who knows what we have down there. I don't think the previous owners of this ship bothered to clean it out before they sold it."

"Plus we do tend to pick random things up on our travels," Rewind noted.

"I'll comm Megatron and Magnus," Perceptor said. "They can catch Rodimus once he finishes his tour and arrange a time for a meeting. Rodimus barely answers his comm anyway."

Brainstorm nodded and went over to his own workstation to get started. It was nice to have a distraction.

\----

Magnus was unsure how he should feel about what Megatron had proposed. There were clearly injustices in this version of Cybertron which reminded him uncomfortably of those which had characterised their own universe's worst times. For instance, the corruption of the Senate which both Megatron and Orion Pax had tried to fight against, even if that once-noble goal had fallen by the wayside for Megatron and his Decepticons. Even after Orion had become Optimus and brought the Autobot faction into being he‘d made sure they would never become that which they were trying to reform and replace. It was why the Code existed, or at least one of the reasons.

The Autobots here were not following the Code. It was unfair to imagine they had ever had a Code which bound them to the same rules of conduct as the Autobots he knew, but it still left a feeling of profound dissonance. Things were disordered. Not right. Not _correct_.

It was none of his business. He was not bound to uphold the Code in this universe. Yet he still understood the argument that Megatron had made. Could he return home knowing that injustice prevailed in this world, and would go on prevailing? Wouldn't it eat away at him in the back of his processor? He could not even console himself by thinking that the Decepticons here would fix the problem. If they were like the Decepticons back home then they would only make things worse, not to mention that their leader had been captured.

Megatron was worried what the Autobots were going to do to his alternate. Given what said alternate had shared, such fear was not unreasonable. It bothered Magnus as well that Megatron hadn't shared any of this with Rodimus. He was co-Captain of this ship, and he deserved to know the details of the choice they were all making. Keeping things from anybot wasn't in Magnus' nature, but Megatron seemed to think there was little point in even offering the option to Rodimus. He seemed very certain of the choice that Rodimus would make.

Why did Magnus want so much to believe that Megatron had genuinely good intentions? It was more likely given his history that this was an attempt to evade the justice at the end of their quest or to push for power. After so many years, could a mech really change?

Megatron had smiled at him, and said that he trusted him to keep him honest. It hadn't sounded like a lie. Magnus deeply, deeply did not want it to be a lie.

His comm pinged. When he picked up Perceptor was on the other end. Something about a meeting to discuss their way home. Magnus pulled himself out of his thoughts. He was going to have to make a decision of some kind at this meeting. He wasn't sure yet what it would be.

\----

"What do you mean it could take deca-cycles?" Rodimus said, slamming his servos into the table as he jumped to his pedes.

"Exactly what I just said," Perceptor replied calmly. "This is not a simple matter. I understand your concern for the crewmembers who aren't with us. I share those concerns, although I hope that I am worrying unnecessarily. However we simply can't bend the laws of physics around us at our whim."

"Brainstorm seemed to manage that just fine the first time around," Rodimus said, folding his arms over his chestplates.

"I took half the war to build that," Brainstorm complained. "And I don't think you're giving enough credit to just how amazing my invention was."

"I don't know slag about science magic," Rodimus said. "Can't you just do some sums and..." he waved his servos around wildly, "poof us back home?"

The stares that Brainstorm and Perceptor levelled at him clearly said no. This was bullshit, Rodimus thought to himself, taking refuge in human slang. It seemed a bit more direct than any of the Cybertronian glyphs he could think of.

"There's also the matter of materials," Percy continued. "I'm concerned that we don't have a number of things on the list that Brainstorm has put together for us." He tapped the table in front of them and its holoprojector activated, showing a scrolling list that seemed longer than it had any need to be.

"Perhaps we might request assistance from the Autobots of this universe?" Megatron suggested, in a suspiciously mild tone. Rodimus shot him a suspicious look. Megatron had been... weird recently. He was up to something, but Roddy couldn't figure out what.

"They don't exactly trust us 'warframes'," Rodimus pointed out. "Besides if we go to them for help we're just gonna get caught up in their politics. I'd put shanix on it. Look, normally I don't mind when we take time out from the quest to help out when we come across a planet with a problem that's easy to fix. This isn't one of those situations though. This isn't a random organic planet. This is Cybertron. When have our problems _ever_ been easy to fix? We don't want to get involved in their war against the 'Cons."

"Perceptor seems confident that the rest of the crew is not in danger," Megatron said. Yeah, he _wanted_ to get involved didn't he. Rodimus' suspicion only deepened. "Besides which, without the supplies this machine will need, we will not be going anywhere."

"Look, there's plenty of other planets in the galaxy," Rodimus said. "Even here they've gotta have organics, or other mechanical races. There's bound to be someone else we could trade with that's not Cybertron."

"I suspect those races will not be particularly eager to aid Cybertronians," Megatron said.

"Oh yeah, and how would you know that?" Rodimus asked.

"I have spent some time talking to this bots of this universe," Megatron replied. "This Cybertron had its own period of warlike expansion and conquest. I imagine those threatened by it do not have fond memories of our kind."

"Magnus, what do you think?" Rodimus asked, turning to look at his Second. Or maybe he guessed Third, depending on how you counted Megatron. "You haven't said much."

For a moment Magnus almost looked guilty. Then he said, "I agree with Megatron. Cybertron is the most likely source for the parts we will need."

Rodimus felt his spoiler hike up around his shoulders. Magnus was meant to be on _his_ side. He wasn't about to let them know he was bothered though. "Fine," he said. "We'll talk to Optimus and Ratchet. They should be heading back to Cybertron soon anyway."

"We shall keep working on the device," Perceptor reassured him. "We will put all our efforts into getting back as soon as possible."

Rodimus really didn’t like this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lost Light strikes course for Cybertron, though they will not like what they find there. Bulkhead begins to act for himself.

The tour of the _Lost Light_ had been interesting, if not quite what Optimus had expected. The vessel was massive. That much had been obvious from the very first time they had seen it in the skies above the Earth's moon, but it was something else when viewed from inside. There were long corridors more like streets, where it was faster to drive in alt than to walk, huge rooms, vast and complicated engines, rows and rows of crew cabins... yet throughout it all they barely saw another bot. The _Lost Light_ had clearly been built to hold hundreds, a thought which was enough to make Optimus' tank churn uneasily, but there was no sign that there was anywhere near that number on board.

Aside from the four mechs who had accompanied them on the tour, the only others they had seen evidence of were the voices of the two inside the lab where Rodimus had stopped briefly, and then a quick glimpse of a couple of others just as they were leaving that area. It was enough to make him wonder if Rodimus was hiding things from them.

At least the tour had given them all a chance to get to know some of these strange new mechs a little better. The rotary warframe, Whirl, had obviously been trying to avoid threatening body language after the warning his Captains had given him. That hadn't stopped his various intrusive questions whenever there was a break in Rodimus' spiel - and the red and gold mech could certainly talk when he wanted to. Optimus didn't know whether to believe even half of what he said, particularly when it came to the more outlandish tales of life in their home dimension. Sparkeaters, legends, plagues, strange organic planets... it seemed too wild to be true. Yet wasn't their presence in itself enough to prove that such things could happen?

Optimus had done his best to answer Whirl's own questions, even though those had mostly been about whether he knew various bots and whether they were all as small as he was. Mostly he didn't recognise the names. Whirl hadn't been the only mech keen to talk to them either. Tailgate, who was a reassuringly normal size, was also friendly and inquisitive. While Optimus had been occupied with Whirl, Sari often butting in with questions of her own, Tailgate had chatted happily to Bumblebee and Arcee about relatively inconsequential things. He'd spent some time while they were driving down one of the longer corridors telling a story about what he used to do before the war, which sounded rather like Optimus' time in the Elite Guard. With less disgrace at the end of it.

It did seem to suggest at least that normal bots were a part of life on the other Cybertron, despite the preponderance of warframes. Optimus had always been told that if the Decepticons won and the warframes returned to Cybertron they would enslave civilian mechs, or worse. That didn't seem to have happened where these bots were from, although from the sound of it history had gone very differently there. Probably the two situations weren't really comparable. These warmechs weren't much like the warmechs that had made up the ranks of the Decepticons.

No matter what Megatron had told Bulkhead, Optimus found it hard to believe it was the truth, or at least, not _all_ of the truth.

The last warframe of their little group was not the talking kind, particularly compared to his friends. He didn't think Cyclonus had said a word since they had met him, not that it had been much of an introduction. It felt like having a guard trail them everywhere, even though Whirl or Tailgate would often direct questions or comments at him. These were met with brief gestures or a simple grunt of acknowledgement. Optimus tried not to show how twitchy it made him.

Rodimus hadn't shown them anything about the _Lost Light's_ weapon systems during the tour. That was interesting. Optimus was fairly sure the ship had them. These bots had already told him their own dimension was still recovering from the effects of a four-million year long civil war, so they would hardly be travelling in a defenceless vessel. He supposed it was to try and make them feel better about the _Lost Light_ , or perhaps Rodimus was simply hoping they wouldn't notice. Yet that combined with the seeming emptiness everywhere they went only made him feel more suspicious.

He didn't _like_ feeling suspicious. These mechs hadn't done anything to justify it, not really, and they had helped them. Yet he couldn't deny Ratchet's point that they could certainly _make themselves_ a threat if they wanted to.

Those other mechs he'd gotten a brief glimpse of in the corridor had been warframes too, although he couldn't say much about the ones in the lab. He'd only heard their voices. When asked, Whirl had confirmed Tailgate wasn't the only 'minibot' on board, but the list of those 'minibots' wasn't long.

He was worrying about this needlessly. They weren't going to be staying around. The _Lost Light_ would head off and find a way back to their own dimension, and Optimus would head back to Cybertron with his friends and with the Decepticon prisoners. He had barely even started to think about the outcome of all that. Sentinel Prime was still in charge and Ultra Magnus was still in medical stasis. He couldn't imagine Sentinel was going to be graceful about this victory.

Whirl and Tailgate had both seemed sad to see them go when they had boarded Omega Supreme again. Ratchet had been waiting impatiently, and had barely waited until the hangar bay doors were open before taking off.

"Are we done here?" Ratchet asked him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"I think so," Optimus replied.

"Awww," Sari said, draping herself over one of the consoles dramatically. "I really liked these guys. I kinda wanted to spend more time together. I bet they would have made great friends."

"They have their own business to get to Sari," Optimus reminded her, "As do we."

"Yeah, getting our prisoners to Cybertron," Bulkhead said, although he didn't look happy. He tapped his servos together nervously. "I dunno whether we should be so quick to do that."

"What do you mean, my mech?" Jazz asked, frowning. Belatedly Optimus realised he hadn't been there for the argument in the rec room. He didn't know that Bulkhead and Sari had talked to Megatron.

"You know Sentinel," Bulkhead said. "He's an aft. What if he doesn't do the right thing?"

"Sentinel isn't gonna be the mech making the final decision," Jazz replied. "That'll be down to the Council."

"Doesn't make me feel much better," Bulkhead murmured.

"What's all this about?" Jazz asked.

Bulkhead's optics darted down to the Elite Guard symbol on Jazz's chest and he paused. "Never mind," he said, venting out. "I got stuff I need to think about."

"Ignore him," Ratchet said to Jazz. "He heard a bit of Decepticon propaganda that unsettled him. He'll get over it soon enough."

"He better get over it before we get home," Jazz said, sounding more worried than anything. "Sentinel's been cracking down hard on any kinda dissent. I'll be glad when the real Magnus gets outta hospital and things go back to normal."

\----

They had just landed back on Sumdac tower, and Bulkhead had gone to make some final adjustments to the spacebridge when the call came through from the _Lost Light_. Bulkhead knew he should have called Optimus and Ratchet over before he answered it, but he was curious, and besides he was getting kinda annoyed with them both. This wasn't the first time they hadn't believed him about things. No-one thought he could build a spacebridge until he did it, and now no-one thought he could tell whether a mech was being truthful or not.

He could tell. Megatron hadn't been lying. That meant things had gone real wrong back at the start of the war between Autobot and Decepticon, and no-one seemed to realise it except the 'cons. It wasn't right. So why did nobody see it except him and Sari?

Bulkhead picked up the call. The screen flickered on to display a vid feed from the bridge of the _Lost Light_ ; they'd gotten to see the room briefly during the tour. It'd been cool. The biggest ship Bulkhead had ever been on before that was the Elite Guard cruiser that had come to earth, and the _Lost Light_ had been even bigger than that! Its engines had been like nothing he'd ever even seen before, something like spacebridge technology but _different_... but he was getting distracted.

"Hi guys," he said to the mechs on screen. Rodimus, Megatron and Ultra Magnus were all on the call, which made him think it was something important. It was still weird to think of this massive warframe as the Magnus' alternate, or to call him 'Magnus' at all. He wasn't gonna be rude though, even in his processor. "What's up?"

Rodimus vented. "Yeah, sorry for bothering you all again. It looks like getting home isn't gonna be quite as easy as we thought."

"Okay," Bulkhead said slowly, thinking. He had no idea about the kind of tech that'd brought them here, but it stood to reason getting home might be hard. "So... you need our help?"

"In essence," Megatron said. "There are certain materials and parts that we will require which may not be easy to obtain. We hoped that such materials might be available on Cybertron."

Bulkhead scratched the side of his helm. "Don't know much about trade and supply," he admitted. "Still, now the other Megatron's captured they'll open up the spacebridge network again and stuff'll start going to and from the colonies. So I guess Cybertron _would_ be the best place to look for stuff. If you wanted to use our spacebridge though I'd have to talk to Optimus 'bout that."

"Nah, the _Lost Light_ could get us there," Rodimus said. "We just didn't want to burst in all unannounced."

"No, that wouldn't go well at all," Bulkhead said, optics widening. Even before things had gotten all heated with the 'cons and the war had started back up, a strange ship appearing in the system would have been a cause for alarm. Now... yeah, he got their point completely. "So you wanna talk to the Council. Yeah, we better do some introductions or something, let them know about you guys. Don't think Optimus or Ratchet or anyone has reported back about you yet."

"Now why would that be?" Megatron asked.

Urg, it was kind of embarrassing having to admit who was in charge of Cybertron right now as acting Magnus - although maybe Sentinel wasn't quite as bad where they came from as he was here. Couldn't exactly be much worse, right? "Autobot Command is kinda... a bit of a mess right now," Bulkhead admitted. "Shockwave really slagged up Ultra Magnus when he blew his cover and he's been in stasis ever since. Sentinel Prime got made acting Magnus 'til he gets better." He'd thought he might get some kind of reaction from the other bots at that, but he hadn't expected it to be as dramatic as it was.

" _Sentinel Prime_ ?" Megatron snarled, baring his dentae. Rather sharp dentae, Bulkhead noticed nervously. Not that the other two looked very pleased either. Both wore looks of disgust that, yeah, seemed a bit extreme even when it came to Sentinel. " _He_ is in charge of Cybertron?"

"I mean, yeah, but just as acting Magnus," Bulkhead said. "That's all."

"Still," Megatron growled, "if he is anything like the Sentinel Prime of our world..."

"I guess your Sentinel wasn't a great guy," Bulkhead said. "I'm not gonna defend our Sentinel, he's an aft, but... maybe he just believes the 'Cons are evil cos that's what he's always been told, same as I did. But I hear he's not been making Cybertron the greatest place to live since he took over so..."

"So you didn't exactly want to tell him about a ship full of warframes," Rodimus said, rolling his optics, the turned to his co-Captain. "See, we should go to the organics. Buy the stuff we need off them."

"You're not Decepticons though," Bulkhead said. "You're Autobots. The warframe thing... that's just 'cos you're from this other reality. So he doesn't have a stabiliser to stand on really. And it's not totally up to him. There's the Council, they would take a vote. I'm sure they'd agree to help."

Ultra Magnus cleared his intake. "Perhaps we are being too hasty," he said. "Theorising from insufficient information. If Optimus can discuss our proposal with your Council and feel out their opinion on the matter, then we can decide whether it is worth approaching them or to seek out other species and factions."

Bulkhead nodded. "That makes sense to me," he agreed. "We need to report in before we head back anyway, explain why there was a delay. They must be wondering."

"You have our comm channel code now," Megatron said. "Contact us when you know more."

"Sure," Bulkhead agreed, happy to help. He had Autobot Megatron to thank for persuading him to listen to his Decepticon self, so in a way he kind of owed him for letting him in on the truth. He would still be believing the propaganda from their own side otherwise. "I'll talk to Optimus. See you guys later."

\----

Ratchet didn't like this, but Optimus had over-ruled him again. That in itself wasn't a problem. Optimus was the bot in charge, after all, and he did a better job of it than he gave himself credit for. However in this _particular_ case he was being far too accommodating. It was far too suspicious that after claiming they'd be out of this dimension on their own in two shakes of a turbofox's tail, suddenly they needed more help - and they needed to go to Cybertron to do it. Something didn't smell right here, though he couldn't put a servo on exactly what.

"Sentinel," Optimus greeted, as the call routed through the spacebridge back to Cybertron was picked up on the other end. Sentinel's scowling faceplates appeared on the screen.

"That's Sentinel Magnus to you, _Prime_ ," Sentinel replied. "You better have a good excuse as to why you and your team haven't returned to Cybertron yet. Was that story you spun about capturing Megatron and the other 'cons just some wild fantasy you cooked up in that overclocked processor of yours?"

Optimus ignored the insults, as he always did. He had more patience for this slag than Ratchet, that was for sure. Of course Ratchet's acerbic glossa had gotten him in trouble in the past, so perhaps it was for the best that Optimus was usually the one to talk to Sentinel. Still, Ratchet was certain those frequent put-downs were behind at least some of Optimus' issues with his self-esteem. There must be some part of his processor that actually _believed_ the nonsense that came out of Sentinel's mouth.

"We still have the prisoners on board and under control," Optimus said. "Our delay was caused by having to deal with another matter."

"Your report mentioned a funeral, I recall," Sentinel said. "Although why you would dishonour your friend's spark by holding it on that filthy, disgusting organic planet I don't know. Takes you a full deca-cycle to hold a funeral now does it?" Ratchet dearly wanted to take their acting Magnus to task for his own disrespect for the dead, but he kept a lid on it. Optimus wouldn't exactly thank him for making his job harder.

"A different matter than that," Optimus said, though his voice did sound a bit strained. "During the final confrontation with the Decepticons, we encountered a group of neutral warframes." That was how they'd agreed the _Lost Light's_ Autobots would be described, at least for now. The whole alternate reality story was a little outlandish to drop in immediately.

" _Neutral_ warframes?" Sentinel said with scorn. "There's no such thing."

"Really?" Optimus asked. "I seem to remember _you_ working with one not that long ago." Ratchet grinned, knowing he wasn't visible on the feed. It did his spark good to remind Sentinel that they could spill the dirt on him if they had to. For himself he would have reported that little mess to Ultra Magnus the moment it happened, but Optimus had been too generous again and let it slide. Didn't mean it couldn't still come in useful now, though 'blackmail' was such an unfortunate word.

Sentinel stiffened at the mention of the business with Lockdown. "That's hardly relevant to the current situation, now is it soldier," he snapped. "Tell me what's going on with these 'neutrals' you're so keen on then."

"Their situation is rather complicated," Optimus said, which was putting it lightly. "I'll send you through a full report to examine and put before the council. The basics of it though are that they are looking to trade with us for some important machine parts so that they can get home, and by 'us' I mean Cybertron."

Sentinel narrowed his optics in suspicion. "That sounds highly suspect," he said. "Perhaps it didn't _occur_ to you Optimus that this might be a trap. These warframes might claim to be neutral, but let's all be realistic here, they're a violent lot and probably 'Con sympathisers. It wouldn't take much to pull the mesh over _your_ optics of course."

"They were kind enough to assist us in securing the Decepticon prisoners, and were happy to offer a tour of their vessel," Optimus replied. "Hardly the actions of bots with something to hide."

"And what exactly do you think should be done with these potential traitors?" Sentinel asked.

"I believe them to be genuine, and I think we should grant their request."

Sentinel snorted in disbelief. "Really? Your report better give me some details to take to the Council to justify that. I'm not buying it, and they won't either."

"I'm sure the Council's decision will be a wise one," Optimus said.

"Just send me the file Optimus," Sentinel said. "I have better things to do today. I expect you back here with the prisoners as soon as the Council decides about your new _friends._ "

\----

"I take it you've all had time to read this ridiculous report Optimus Prime sent for the Council's consideration," Sentinel said, waving a datapad in the air to demonstrate his point. He had forwarded it on to the other three members of the Council before bothering to open it himself and now was regretting it, mostly because its contents were so nonsensical that it made him look bad for even giving it the time of cycle. What was Optimus playing at, he wondered irritably. Had his processor actually fried after all that exposure to organics?

Travel between dimensions? Alternate versions of Autobots? Did he really expect them to believe any of it? What was he trying to achieve here?

"It was certainly interesting," Alpha Trion replied, servo stroking over his facial insignia.

"It's nonsense, you mean," Sentinel said. "No need to be polite about it."

"Perhaps not," Perceptor said. His expression was blank as always, and his tone never gave anything away either. Sentinel didn't like the scientist. He didn't like how hard he was to read. "These claims are curious and bear further investigation."

"Agreed," Cliffjumper said. "I have no information about this group, and I can't give you a considered opinion until we know more."

Sentinel knew his facepates were screwed into an expression of disgust, but it was hard to feel anything else given the situation. "Optimus is trying to manipulate the situation somehow," he said. "I don't know what he wants or expects, but we should not be giving it to him."

"His expressed intention seems clear," Perceptor said, gesturing to his own datapad the copy of the report it contained. "He wishes us to permit this ship known as the _Lost Light_ to enter Cybertron's airspace."

Sentinel hadn't thought much about the mention of a ship when Optimus had let it slip during that vidcall, but now he'd read the report he wished he had asked more questions. The description of the vessel described something at least the size of the largest ships currently in Cybertron's fleet, and Optimus thought they were just going to roll over and let something like that enter the system to wreak havoc? Sure, he hadn't described its weapons systems but he also acknowledged he hadn't been allowed to see them on this 'tour' of his - which apparently he hadn't bothered to question at all! "It's out of the question of course," he said.

"Do not be too hasty," Perceptor told him. "The planet's defence systems should be sufficient to eliminate the vessel as a threat when it is still beyond atmosphere, if that became necessary. Therefore we may be able to permit the warframes to use it to travel to Cybertron where we may question them more completely."

"The same defence systems you didn't want to use on the Omega unit when it was menacing us?" Sentinel asked. He was still angry about that.

"The Omega Sentinel was an Autobot asset," Perceptor replied. "It would have been highly wasteful to destroy it when there were other options available to us."

"So we shoot them out of the sky if they try anything," Sentinel said. "Why even bother letting them come to Cybertron in the first place?"

"For the advancement of science," Perceptor said. "Which may include potential military implementations. Even if as you assume this report is inaccurate we can capture the warframes while their guard is down. The Decepticons have had many millennia to develop coding which will be resistant to reactivating their obedience protocols. We should not assume that because we were able to implant such programs into the aerial test units that we will be able to do the same for the Decepticon prisoners we are about to receive."

Sentinel frowned. "Why even bother?" he asked. "They're 'Con scum, Megatron worst among them.  I'd planned to film their execution to boost morale, demand the rest of the slaggers surrender, and have done with it."

Alpha Trion spoke for the first time in a while. "I do not believe that would be wise," he said. "The last thing we need is a martyr for the Decepticons to rally around. I have my own beliefs about how that situation should be handled, but that is getting somewhat off topic. We will have plenty of time to discuss that when Optimus arrives with his prisoners."

"Well what's your opinion about these warframes he wants to bring with him?" Sentinel asked.

"I believe we should not judge them before we have a chance to meet them for ourselves. Optimus Prime states they are Autobots from a world where that and 'warframe' are not incompatible ideas. If so then they are hardly likely to be sympathetic to the Decepticon cause, and there is little for us to worry about."

"I agree with Alpha Trion," Cliffjumper said.

"Is that the decision of the Council then?" Sentinel asked. "Three to one on letting the _Lost Light_ come here?" He vented out, not exactly happy about the decision, but knowing there wasn't much he could do about it now. The Council's decision was final when it came to military matters or anything to do with the war. At least they didn't have to get the Senate proper involved or they'd have been here for deca-cycles.

"I'll comm Optimus back," he said. "Tell him the _good news_."

\----

It was difficult to be sure of the passage of time from inside his cell, but Megatron thought it had been a least several solar-cycles since he had been visited by his alternate, the younger Sumdac, and the Autobot. His internal chronometer had been damaged in the battle and despite his conversation his foes had still not deigned to repair him. Several times the youngest of the group had brought him a cube of energon - the thin stuff refined from crude organic-based oil, but energon all the same. His servos had been stasis-cuffed in front of him, so he at least had the ability to lift the cube up to drink rather than being fed, and he drank gratefully whenever he was given the chance. This was all that was sustaining his self-repair systems, and if he had been forced to drink the oil straight and unprocessed those systems would have already failed by now.

The pain was almost normal at this point. He had been in prolonged pain before, but not for many vorns. There had been campaigns where access to medics was limited, and he had become familiar with pain. He could almost think of it as an old friend. Often he found himself drifting back to those old battles, old wounds. He had been thinking about the events of his life frequently. There was little else to occupy his mind. He could at least meditate on his achievements and imagine how Strika would continue the great work after his death.

The door to the cells creaked open. He onlined his optics to see a mech lit by the soft pinkish glow of energon, but it was not the youngling this time.

"Bulkhead, was it not?" he said, smiling. He was certain his words had hit home with this one. Had that been enough though to root in doubt? To really do anything that would help him?

Bulkhead didn't reply, coming over to deactivate the energy shield of his cell and stepping inside. Once he was closer he said, with a certain deliberate air, "I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Perhaps not," Megatron replied. "Yet your masters are unable to prevent me from talking to _you_."

Bulkhead shrugged, and approached close enough to set the cube down just within reach. As he did so he tipped his servo just enough to let a small datachip slide out from where he'd been holding it clamped to the side of the cube. "This ain't right," he said very quietly, then stood up again. Megatron reached out quickly and gathered the chip up along with the cube of energon.

"I'm not gonna listen to anything you have'ta say," Bulkhead said, much more loudly, and crossed his arms over his chestplates before storming out. Overacting a bit, but this kind of subterfuge obviously was unfamiliar to the mech. Megatron heard the door sliding open and shut, but his attention was on the datachip now. Chips like this held much less information than datapads could, but that was merely relative. Bulkhead obviously had information he wanted to pass on, and this _was_ the most expedient way to do so.

Now to find a dataport that hadn't been damaged in the explosion that had destroyed the last Starscream Supreme. Megatron dug around in the plating of his less injured arm, trying to make it appear that he was simply distracted by the itch of slowly knitting armour. There. He had to prise the access panel open where it had fused shut, but underneath the port was undamaged. He slid the datachip home, passed a brief virus scan over it, and dipped into its contents.

Hmmm. Interesting. Bulkhead had loaded various different documents onto the datachip without much sense of order to them, however Megatron could follow the thread of what he was apparently meant to understand. Omega Supreme would be leaving for Cybertron via spacebridge in the next solar cycle. The _Lost Light_ had requested permission to travel to Cybertron - there was a copy of a report which Optimus Prime had sent to the Council, and a copy of the authorisation they had sent back. He thought he detected the servo of his alternate in this.

It had been clear from the other Megaton's reactions that learning the history of this reality had affected him deeply. If he was anything like Megatron knew himself to be, then he would not be able to stand idly by and let this continue. Of course he _was_ an Autobot, so whether his masters would _permit_ him to act was another matter. Still, there had to be a reason the alternates were remaining in this dimension and he did not believe their excuse about trading for parts.

More interesting was the fact that the Council had actually given permission for them to go to Cybertron. He would not have expected that from them. It made him uneasy. He suspected they had their own hidden motivations, and experience taught him that the motivations of Autobot authorities were never to be trusted.

There were a few other small files contained in the datachip. Megatron opened them and stiffened as a clip of a camera feed flashed up in the corner of his optics. He hadn't been expecting a video file. A quick check confirmed that it was not live, but there was a time-stamp attached, not that it did him much good. It showed another cell, and another prisoner huddled within it. Lugnut. He too was injured, although nowhere near as badly as Megatron himself. He was in stasis cuffs and had a muzzle over his mouth clamping it closed. Megatron swore internally. How were they feeding him? _Were_ they even feeding him?

He lingered a while over the clip, but it wasn't long and looped without incident. There was nothing to tell him what kind of condition Lugnut might really be in. The slope of his shoulders at least was tired and defeated. More than that he couldn't say. He booted the final file.

Another clip. Another cell. Shockwave this time. The stasis cuffs would prevent him activating his Sigma ability and shape-shifting out of his bonds. Anger burned in his single optic.

Both of them were prisoners aboard this same ship as he. In all probability, neither of them knew he was here with them. They would have no idea what had happened except that since they remained prisoners the plan must have failed. Megatron slumped down in his own bonds, venting out. His spark throbbed dully inside his chest. _He_ had failed. He was responsible for the safety of his troops, and he had failed them. Now they would all die, or worse, when they reached Cybertron.

There was one light of hope however. They had one ally in Bulkhead, and perhaps more out there. Perhaps there was still a way to win free from this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor muses, Sentinel fumes, Ratchet worries, and Sari confronts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure these guys will get to Cybertron eventually. 
> 
> Brief warning in this chapter for implied off-screen non-con ie. sex with characters who are unable to say no. If you want to avoid it, skip over the last couple paragraphs of Sentinel's POV section.

Perceptor could only keep half of his processor on the calculations in front of him. The other half was focused on the other mech sharing the lab with him. Brainstorm was doing a very good impression of a bot utterly unbothered by anything outside of his work, but Perceptor had spent enough time with him now to know better. He hadn't forgotten the withdrawn, uncommunicative mech he had seen locked up in the _Lost Light's_ brig or the things that Brainstorm had said when Perceptor's presence had finally drawn him out of that state. The despair and the lack of any apparent concern about whether he lived or died had been... troubling. To say the least. That kind of mood did not simply go away.

No, he was almost certain Brainstorm had simply shoved all of those complicated emotions down deep and thrown himself into the comforting distraction of science. Perceptor could understand the impulse. He had done it himself in the past. Still he worried, mostly about what would happen when their current problem was solved and there was nothing for Brainstorm to use to bury his pain.

At least Brainstorm had made up with some of the crew since their arrival in this dimension. Perceptor was able to understand their potential points of view using a logical framework but that didn't mean he agreed with them. In his mind Brainstorm had done nothing unforgivable. Certainly not by the standards of this war. Turning Decepticon was less a betrayal now that Decepticon and Autobot were outmoded concepts and no longer enemies. Whatever had happened with the other _Lost Light_ had been the crime of a different Brainstorm, and not the one stood in front of him. Perhaps his time with the Wreckers had simply made him more accepting  of things which other mechs would see as unforgivable.

If so Perceptor was certainly not going to spend too much time beating himself up over it. If you took a firm moral stance now, after four million years, then there was no bot out there who was free from sin. Condemn one, and condemn them all. Everyone had something to make up for, and Perceptor included himself in that.

So yes, he felt protective over Brainstorm. The hostility of his crewmates had been unmistakable, and in Perceptor's opinion, undeserved. If it had come to violence he would have defended him. Thankfully it now appeared that this was no longer likely. Things had settled down.

Was it just the experience of seeing his labmate so low that had prompted this unusual outpouring of emotion, Perceptor asked himself? No, it wasn't that. Even before going down to the brig when he'd expected to find Brainstorm as confident, brash, and unapologetic as ever, he had been feeling... something for him. Something new.

When Perceptor first joined up to Rodimus' quest it had been a mixture of curiosity at what they might find on the journey and a desire to get away from the political mess left in the war's wake. Learning that New Institute scientist and inventor Brainstorm was also onboard and that they were expected to share lab space had left him dreading the experience. He'd heard all kinds of rumours about what Brainstorm typically got up to, and what he had seen of him initially had done nothing to change his opinion. Brainstorm jumped from project to project, creating unstable, dangerous, unreliable weapons and devices that should have been scrapped rather than let loose on an unsuspecting ship's population. There had been no apparent respect for the underlying principles of science.

Besides which, Brainstorm had been obnoxious, boastful, and full of what Perceptor had thought was inflated self-importance and ego. For all that Brainstorm was always friendly towards him, Perceptor hadn't wanted to encourage that kind of behaviour.  

Now however he felt like he understood the roots of it much better. These wild projects had never been anything more than distractions, both for Brainstorm himself and for the faction that employed him. They hid the long, tireless work he had been doing behind the scenes for himself. No, perhaps Brainstorm didn't show much respect for scientific principles, but that didn't mean he didn't _understand_ them, or that his intellect wasn't up to the task of serious work. It certainly was. Brainstorm had claimed the title of genius for himself many times, but it wasn't until now that Perceptor actually believed it.

He looked at Brainstorm differently now. The impression of him he'd had before seemed no more than a holo, a persona, a data-ghost. It had been built out of unexamined assumptions. Perceptor saw him now. For himself.

That changed things. Perceptor was deeply impressed by what Brainstorm had managed to accomplish in creating his time machine, even if it hadn't been the kind of success Brainstorm himself wanted. He wanted to get  to know him better now, to _understand_ him. There was a heat that pooled in his capacitators, licked along his neural wiring - although of course this wasn't the time. Brainstorm was still grieving, something it was clear he hadn't done when he still had some hope of changing the past.

Still, Perceptor was going to keep a close optic on him from here on out. He wanted to see Brainstorm recover from this, and return to being the kind of bot he knew he could be.

\----

Sentinel Magnus was still fuming about the Council's decision. Oh sure, maybe they had half a point - maybe this was a military and scientific opportunity. But maybe it was also some kind of plot cooked up in Optimus Prime's cunning processor. Optimus was just the kind of untrustworthy bot who was good at pretending he was nice and honest and straight-edged. Sure. Like he'd never run away like a coward and gotten a good bot killed. Like he hadn't been justly thrown out of the Elite Guard. Like he hadn't slyly manoeuvred himself out of the position of a spacebridge technician when that was all he was good for, and set himself up as some kind of a hero.

Finding the Allspark on a forgotten asteroid, running into Decepticons, all of these showy _supposed_ heroics on that little organic mudball... it was all just too convenient. This was Optimus they were talking about. Sentinel knew what he was like. He wasn't a hero and he was barely a warrior. There was something off about everything that had happened this last vorn, and Sentinel didn't like it and he didn't trust it.

Did Optimus really expect everyone to believe he'd defeated Megatron unaided? That he'd taken down an ancient, powerful, highly experienced warframe all by himself in open combat? It was hard enough to credit that a crew of spacebridge techs had lasted this long on the same planet as at least three Decepticon warframes without any of them offlining before now. Sentinel knew too well how formidable any Decepticons were to take on, and he was a better fighter than Optimus. It didn't add up, but no-one was questioning it except him.

Optimus was up to something. He had some plan to claw back what he wasn't entitled to, and this business with the 'Autobot' warframes was just part of it.  Yet Sentinel was expected to talk to him as though he didn't _know_ this.

When he'd been made Magnus the position came with an apartment in the Senate building, and full access to Cybertron's government communications hub, networked into the spacebridges. It was a convenience he appreciated, although simply having a comfortable chair in front of his personal comms console in the hub wasn't enough to make up for having to make this call to Optimus. At least Optimus' crew picked up fast, he thought as their medic appeared on the viewscreen. Sentinel could barely be bothered to remember his name, but he dredged it up out of the back of his processor anyway.

"Ratchet. I need to speak to Optimus. Go get him."

"Ever heard of asking politely,  _sir_ ," the mech replied, with the excess of insubordination he had come to expect from Optimus' crew, though he stomped off to fetch his Prime anyway. Sentinel supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Cogmonkey see, cogmonkey do. Hah, it wasn't like he could imagine that Optimus commanded any real respect from his own crew either. He certainly hadn't been able to teach them military respect if they dared to talk to their _Magnus_ like this.

Optimus appeared not long after. "Keeping busy I see," Sentinel said.

"What is it?" Optimus asked, adding "Sir," after a noticeable pause. Sentinel clenched his dentae together.

"The Council will allow your little warframe buddies to come to Cybertron," he said, nobly resisting the urge to dress Optimus down for his lack of due respect. He keyed in the transfer of the file the Council had prepared between them. "We’ve got some instructions for them so they don’t cause trouble when they get here. Pass it on will you. Then get your afts back here with your prisoners. You've caused enough of a delay."

Optimus nodded. "I knew the Council would make a fair decision," he said. "Was there anything else... sir?"

"Just try not to let the 'Cons escape on the way back," Sentinel said, and cut the connection. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the padding under the plush mesh envelop him, trying to cool down. Everything seemed to be going Optimus' way, and it was infuriating. Before Optimus has started to show such suspicious good luck he had actually almost pitied him, stuck commanding a squad of civilian nobodies doing nothing of any importance. Of course it hadn't been _much_ pity given it was nothing more than Optimus deserved, and about all he was good for. But now...

He tried to remind himself that no bot could hide their true character forever. Optimus would frag up again somehow, just like he had done in the past. Only this time Sentinel would be the Magnus passing judgement, and he would do it properly this time. Yes, that was a more pleasant thought.

There wasn't anything else that required his attention this solar cycle. He could finally go back to his apartment for a little rest and relaxation, and maybe that would help him forget about this vexing problem of Optimus for a little while. Feeling a little happier, he left the communications hub and took the lift up to the penthouse that spanned several floors of one of the Senate building's towers. When he stepped out into the lower lounge he was greeted as expected by two excited voices.

"Sentinel Magnus sir! You've returned." The twins Jetfire and Jetstorm jumped up from where they had been sprawled out on a couple of the sofas facing the panoramic windows, coming to attention with smiles on their faceplates.

"I was only gone seeing the Council a couple of hours," Sentinel told them. Now this was some proper respect.  Just what he'd been missing. His optics however had noticed something slightly out of place. One of the windows out to the balcony was open. He frowned. "You two weren't out flying, now were you?" They had been forbidden to do that unless as part of an authorised military operation. It made the civilians understandably nervous.

"No sir!" Jetstorm replied, optics wide. "We would never!"

"Enjoying the wind," Jetfire added. "Is okay?"

"If that's all you were doing," Sentinel said, relaxing a little. Of course they hadn't disobeyed. Perceptor had been careful with them when he had upgraded their frames with warframe designs and coding. They had the same obedience protocols that had been developed to keep all aggressive warframe coding in check. Insubordination wasn't in their programming.

Of course the pair were not obliged to take orders from any Autobot below the rank of Prime, as Perceptor had made clear when he had put them into Sentinel's care. Not that _that_ was likely to be a problem. Sentinel didn't want any old grunt ordering his mechs around.

"You should have taken us with you," Jetstorm said. "We are bodyguards, yes? So let us guard."

"I'm hardly in danger in the Senate building," Sentinel said. "You can make yourselves useful now that I'm back though. Where's my buffer?"

"I will get," Jetfire said, darting off and returning swiftly. The kind of budget the Magnus had access to was good for something at least. This was the latest in comfort and personal care technology, just like the expensive imported wax he could afford now as well. Couldn't have the Magnus looking anything other than his best, after all.

Sentinel draped himself over the buffing couch on the other side of the room with a pleased vent out and made himself comfortable. Drawers nearby opened and closed, and soon Jetstorm's servos were massaging cleaner over his plating and deep into the seams where the high-quality oil would force out dust and grime. The twins had been admirably quick to pick up how to do this, and he fully intended to take full advantage of having them around.  

A good polish, massage and buffing would be an excellent distraction from Optimus. Jetstorm and Jetfire were always so pleasingly _thorough_ , and his spike certainly enjoyed the attention. It was always good to bleed off a bit of charge, though he usually felt too relaxed at the end of this for anything at all energetic.

There would be time for that later.  

\----

Sari had been thinking a lot about Megatron. Not the Autobot one, the evil murderous one sitting in a cell deep inside Omega Supreme. Which must be weird in itself, having people moving around inside your body. Having a mortal enemy trapped inside your body.

She had never thought about it like that before. It kind of made her hair stand on end, but it had to be normal for big bots like Omega, right? He was a ship, and ships transported people. _So_ weird.

Anyway, Megatron. She kept going back round to what he'd said. It had been strange while he was talking, because there was some part of her that was almost nodding along, telling her yes, yes, that's true, and so is that, and the planet your friends come from was terrible once upon a time and if they had come to Earth back _then_ rather than now it would have been to invade it and strip-mine it like all those aliens out of sci-fi movies. And that part of her hadn't been _her_. It had been the same thing that she dipped into when she needed to _know_ something that by all rights she shouldn't be able to know. A space inside her head that was locked away, that felt kind of _heavy_ , and a warmth inside her chest that burned bright whenever she tapped into it.

It scared her. Mostly because she thought she might know what it was.

The Allspark. Which her friends talked about like it was... _everything_ . When it had been in the key she hadn't really thought about it much except as the thing that fixed up her friends no matter how bad they were hurt, as something that meant she didn't need to worry about them as much. Now that it was _inside her_...

Anyway, the Allspark energy or whatever had been telling her that evil Megatron was right and it meant she hadn't been able to get as angry with him as she'd wanted. He'd done loads of terrible stuff on Earth! She thought that since she had this chance to talk to him rather than trying not to get killed by him she might have been able to call him on it, but they had gotten so caught up in that history lesson that the moment to ask never came up. Now they were going to be heading back to Cybertron at last, and she wasn't going to get another chance. She wasn't going to feel right if she didn't have this... closure. Yeah, she supposed it was that.

Sari had noticed none of her friends had mentioned whether or not she was going to be allowed to go to Cybertron with them. She knew what her father would say; absolutely not. But she wanted to see it. That was where she came from. Where she had been 'born' in some sense, as a protoform. Didn't she have the right to learn about it? It wasn't like she would be going there permanently after all. They had the spacebridge. She could come back any time.

Sari sighed. She'd been wandering through Omega Supreme's corridors for a while now trying to decide what she wanted to do. She didn't want to get Bee in trouble by sneaking past him when he was on guard duty, and if it was Jazz on there was no chance he wouldn't spot her. She was small enough that she'd wondered about crawling through the air ducts, but she thought Omega might notice and rat her out.

On the other hand maybe she could just ask him. He might not mind.

"Omega," she said, putting one of her hands on the wall. Touching felt... right? Like a way of letting him know she wanted his attention. "Can I talk to you?"

"I am always here if you need something," Omega said, his voice rumbling out of somewhere in the air around her. Did he have hidden speakers? Or was the metal of his own body transmitting it?

"Ratchet said you were listening when Bulkhead and I talked to Megatron."

Omega hummed uneasily. "None of us should listen to his lies," he said, although Sari kind of got the feeling he maybe wasn't as convinced as he was trying to sound. "Ratchet has assured me that he was not telling the truth."

"Ratchet doesn't want to listen to anything," Sari complained. "Even when it's more complicated than he thinks. I don't get it. I don't get why he's being like this! Everyone lies when there's a war on, not just the bad guys. Even I know that and I'm not thousands of years old."

"It is in their programming to be bad," Omega said.

Sari shook her head, not sure why she was arguing. She wanted to talk to Megatron about Earth, not about Cybertron, so arguing whether he was lying or not about the war didn't matter. "I want to talk to Megatron again," she said, instead of pushing the point. "About something different this time."

"I do not think that is a good idea," Omega told her.

"I know that," Sari said, "But don't I get to choose that? It's not like I'm going to _do_ anything about what he said before. He's still a threat. I'm not going to _let him out_ , if that's what Ratchet is worried about. I just want to ask him why he did what he did on Earth."

"Surely it is simply his nature..."

"Yeah, maybe, but what does he tell _himself_ about it?" Sari asked. "What's his excuse? That's what I want to know."

"I do not want to make you unhappy Sari," Omega said. "I do not know which will make you more unhappy. I cannot calculate it."

"Then just show me how to get through to the cells," Sari said. "That's what'll make me happy."

Omega fell silent while he thought. Sari rocked on her heels while she waited for him to speak again. "Very well," he said at last. "There is a duct further down this corridor. I have removed the cover."

 _"Thank you_ ," Sari said, and ran to find it.

\----

That had been a brief call even by Sentinel's usual standards. Ratchet loathed every time they had to interact with that stuck-up bot. Ultra Magnus couldn't recover fast enough, in his opinion. He was surprised at what he'd had to say however. He had expected the Council to refuse Rodimus' request outright, and it was frankly suspicious that they hadn't. He wondered what had gotten into their processors. There had to be something about this he was missing. He'd read Optimus' report. Sure, it put a nice spin on things, but the mechs of the Council would be able to read the subtext underneath it the same as Ratchet could.  Warframes. Not to be trusted.

So they had their own agenda here. Nothing new there. He wondered what they had cooked up this time.

Optimus glanced over to him, smiling. "I'd better call up the _Lost Light_ ," he said. "Let them know the good news."

"Go ahead kid," Ratchet said, gesturing dismissively. Optimus turned back to the console. Ratchet only paid him a little attention. He was busy thinking about their preparations to return home, making sure there was nothing important he'd forgotten.

Rodimus appeared on the viewscreen, and he and Optimus exchanged greetings. Optimus launched into his explanation, and started passing on some of the details they had arranged - what coordinates in the planetary system the other ship was to set its jump to, for example. Ratchet only started paying attention again when he heard his name called.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I was just telling Optimus I remembered something we were talking about," Rodimus replied, "just after the big battle, you remember. You were talking with that little kid, Sari - something about getting a scientist to look at her."

Now Ratchet thought about it, he did recall what the warframe was talking about. "What of it?" he asked.

Rodimus spread his servos wide. "We _have_ a scientist on board," he said. "Two scientists even. If there's something you need figured out about your little techno-organic buddy, we can just get Perceptor to take a look at her."

Ratchet felt his joints freeze into place. Perceptor? The head of the Research Department, the mech who had cut down Omega's processor into something _manageable_ , who had reformatted a couple of injured younglings into flight-mech warframes, had an alternate on board that ship? A _warframe_ alternate, most likely?

He didn't want to even _think_ what a warframe version of Perceptor would be like.

"No," he said. "Absolutely not."

Rodimus reset his optics in surprise. "Huh? Whyever not?"

"I'm not letting _him_ anywhere near any friends of mine," Ratchet snarled. "And that's the end of it. Did you tell him about her?"

"No," Rodimus said, taken aback. "I'd kinda forgotten about the whole topic until just now."

"Well forget it again," Ratchet said. "We'll find someone to look at Sari, _if_ it becomes necessary."

"Okay doc, okay," Rodimus said. "Consider it forgotten."

Optimus looked at him, confused as well. "Ratchet, what was that about?" he asked quietly.

"I'll tell you later," Ratchet said. _Perceptor_ , of all mechs. Slag it.

\----

Megatron had almost managed to fall into a light recharge when his audials picked up the sound of something scraping in the ceiling above him. He rebooted his optics and looked up. There was a small pair of optics peering down at him from the gaps in the grill of the air duct. Optics too small to be those of a bot.

"Sari Sumdac again I presume," he said. "You are certainly bold."

"I sure am," the techno-organic creature told him. She seemed to be lying on her belly in the duct. It didn't appear that she could get through the grill, but that did not seem to be her intent.

"Why are you here?"

"To ask you some questions."

Megatron shifted in his bonds. "Ask away," he said. "I am always happy to provide answers."

"So long as they're honest ones," the girl replied. "Believe me, I'll know if they're not."

"Yes, you seemed very certain of my honesty when we spoke before. I am grateful for that, but I can't help but wonder why."

"You can go on wondering," Sari said, "because it's none of your business. What I want to know is... you know, you talked a good game about Decepticons being the good guys, but what about everything you did to my planet! What about Earth?"

Yes, he could see now why she had made the effort to seek him out again. Very well. He saw no reason not to answer her.

"Earth is and always has been incidental to my goals. The Decepticon cause has always been focused upon Cybertron. My actions upon this planet have only been towards that end, nothing more."

"Really? You guys busted up Detroit a whole bunch of times! You kidnapped my dad! You unleashed those clones to try and kill us all..."

"May I remind you that your father held _me_ as his prisoner for dozens of stellar cycles," Megatron replied, allowing a little of the irritation which still remained about that to seep into his voice. "As I told him at the time, turnabout was fair play. Besides, I needed him."

"He tried to help you the moment he discovered you were alive! How was he supposed to know you weren't dead? Nothing we knew of could have survived the injuries you did."

"Yet it must also have been clear to him that I was _not_ anything he 'knew of'. I find it very hard to believe he was unable to pick up the activity of my processor."

"So is that what it's about? Revenge?" Sari demanded.

Megatron let his engine growl in response. "Revenge is an indulgence," he said, "though one I will admit to, on occasion. Still, as I said. Whatever damage we did to this settlement of yours was a mere by-product, first of getting me a body back and then to further my grand plan to invade Cybertron."

"And that makes it all okay then does it?"

She was a very angry little thing, wasn't she? Megatron found it rather charming. "The Decepticons are at war," he said. "The Autobots are our mortal enemies. I have read some of your human history during my time confined here. I understand that your wars have laws, bloodthirsty and terrible species that you are..."

" _Excuse me_ ," Sari said, her little servos coming out to wrap around the bars of the duct grill - or grasp them as best she could, thick as they were compared to her. Was she imagining them wrapped around his throat cables? He smirked up at her.

"Do you deny what humanity is capable of?" he said. "How lucky you are, to have two such species mixed in your heritage. What capacity for violence! Most species do not need to wrap themselves up in rules to prevent themselves committing atrocities... most, save yours, and mine, and a few others of note I could name." He was taunting her, and he shouldn't. It achieved nothing. But he had not been lying when he said revenge was an indulgence - he was simply an indulgent bot.

"You're trying to distract me!" Sari said, more perceptive than he would have given her credit for.  

"Perhaps," he said. "Still, it may help you to know that the Autobots do not have a concept of 'civilian' in the way humans do. Why, they are _all_ civilians, even those who have taken up arms onto the battlefield. If they were not civilians they would be like us, and that is inconceivable to them. By that same logic, it surely cannot be possible for Decepticon outposts to contain non-combatants. We are soldiers by our very nature. It does not matter that some are tired of battle and do not wish to fight. We learned early on in our war that when cornered by the Elite Guard one must either fight, or one will die."

"I don't see what this has to do with Earth," Sari said, sounding less angry, but still unhappy.

"I merely note that your Autobot friends here are legitimate targets. They stood in my way. They declared themselves my enemies. In a time of war. Did you expect me _not_ to try to kill them?"

"And it didn't matter how many humans got hurt in the crossfire?"

"You are a previously uncontacted species," Megatron said with a shrug. "We have no treaties with you. Your technology is, if you will excuse me, primitive. It is in my interests to preserve Decepticon sparks, and the lives of my allies, above those upon this world. The faster I could end the war, the fewer lives would be lost - and yes, that includes human lives as well. If I had succeeded in getting the Allspark then you would never have seen me or my warriors again, as a simple example."

"So much for your claims of respecting organic life."

Megatron reset his optics, a little surprised. Perhaps they had different definitions of that concept. "What do you mean by respect?" he asked. "I can see the worth of organic lives as similar to mechanical life. I can recognise that they are sentient species with members who may be noble or malicious or anywhere in between. I can appreciate that it would be immoral to treat them as mechanimals to be slaughtered, or as resources to be used and discarded. I _respect_ them enough not to coddle them needlessly."

"Coddle us?" She was angry again. "You didn't even talk to us! Maybe if you had just _talked_ to my dad like a _normal_ person he would have helped you out of his own free will, not just because you tricked him!"

"He was already working with my enemies," Megatron pointed out.

"And you just said we hadn't been contacted before," Sari said. "If you told us all that stuff about the slavery and... and how the war started..."

"You expect a lot of trust from me. I was disembodied, helpless. I did not know much of you as a species, except that one of you had me trussed in his workshop like a trophy and allied himself with Autobots. Should I have taken a chance on mercy and goodwill, when the risk of simply being killed for my trouble seemed so great? No, caution was the better route."

"You could still have talked to us afterwards. When you had your body back. You could have..."

"Wasted precious time? When the Allspark was almost in my grasp, or when everything relied on a perfectly orchestrated invasion plan?" Megatron shook his helm. "In war expediency is more important. I did not go out of my way to hurt humans, but nor would I hesitate if they were in the way of achieving my goals. I cannot apologise for that. I can only apologise to you that you have been distressed by it."

"It's not an apology when you don't think you've done anything wrong."

Megatron smiled. "No, indeed it is not."

"So you wouldn't do anything differently, if you could go back?"

"Knowing nothing more or less than I did then? No, of course not. Knowing what I know now... hindsight is always more sensitive. The comparison is unfair."

"Urg, whatever." She sounded dissatisfied, but Megatron could not give her any other answer. Not if she wanted the truth. "I'm just... gonna go now. Before someone notices I'm missing."

"Before you go, a question of my own if I may," Megatron said. He heard the shuffling noise of her movement in the vent stop.

"What's the question?" she asked suspiciously.

"Are we returning to Cybertron soon?"

"Pretty soon," she said, and started to move away.

Megatron attempted to make himself comfortable in his bonds - a fruitless endeavour, but one he persisted in all the same. He hoped the techno-organic had learned something from this experience. It might serve her well for the future.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Megatron takes control; the other has lost it. Heroes return home, and there is a fateful meeting.

Image with scales; original is [here](https://www.deviantart.com/koch43/art/Height-reference-575201547), TFA bots added based on official and non-official sources.

 

\----

 

"That was weird, right?" Rodimus asked, turning away from the now blank viewscreen. "It wasn't just me?"

"I agree," Ultra Magnus said, frowning. "Ratchet's level of concern appeared out of proportion even given his previously noted dislike for us."

"It couldn't have been just us suggesting we get a scientist involved," Rodimus said, leaning back in the Captain's chair. "I said that before and he just kinda shrugged it off. No, he didn't freak out until I said Perceptor's name."

"I suspect that the Perceptor of this world may have given him some cause to react like that," Megatron suggested, gesturing at the viewscreen. "That does not bode well, in my mind."

"Bode well for what?" Rodimus asked, sliding down a little more in his seat. He wasn't exactly pleased that Magnus had taken Megatron's side, and he was still getting that really strong feeling that there was something going on here that he wasn't being told about. "You starting to have second thoughts about trading with Cybertron?"

"No," Megatron replied evenly. "I merely suggest we should be on our guard when we arrive. These Autobots may not be as _pleasant_ as the ones you know."

"I can hear your sarcasm from here," Rodimus said. "You know that right?" He sighed. There was an itch under his plating, a squirmy uncomfortable feeling he couldn't get at. At the back of his mind he kept conjuring up horrible things that might have happened to the rest of the crew back home, no matter what Perceptor might say to reassure him. Every part of him ached to get back there and find out, help them if need be, but there wasn't any way to do it.

Ultra Magnus turned away and started going through the file they had been sent. He brought up the holos of Cybertron with that small noise he made when he was surprised by something. It didn't happen often, and Rodimus was fairly sure Magnus didn't know that he did it.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Luna-1 is still in orbit above Cybertron," Mags replied. "It appears our history here differs even down to mythology. Perhaps that explains the prevalence of atheism."

"Huh?" Rodimus said. This was the first he was hearing of that little fact. "Don't they have like, the Matrix and all that? I mean I'm not over here praying to the Oneness of Primus at every opportunity like Drift, but I _was_ a Prime for a little while. I know that Primus is real."

Magnus shrugged, but he looked uncomfortable. "I do not know if the Matrix exists here. Recall that although Optimus referred to himself as a Prime he clearly didn't mean it in the way we would expect. I don't think he carries the Matrix."

Rodimus made a thoughtful noise, his servo going up to rub the place on his chestplate where the Matrix had once sat. He realised what he was doing after a moment and jerked his servo back. "I guess I assumed the other _you_ had it."

Megatron snorted. It sounded contemptuous, which made Rodimus' plating bristle instinctively. "I doubt it," he said. "He is not calling himself Ultra _Prime_ , after all."

"This dimension is weird," Rodimus complained. "Everyone's a minibot, nobody trusts us, Ratchet thinks Percy's evil, and there isn't even a Matrix. What if... what if there really _is_ no Primus here!" He put a servo up to his helm and gestured outwards. "Mind: blown."

Mags sighed and went back to the file. "They have given us co-ordinates for our jump," he said, "as well as a timescale, and approach vector. We can leave soon after Omega Supreme passes through the spacebridge. It appears that they wish to have a parade of some kind."

"All hail the returning heroes?" Rodimus said, grinning. "Guess they don't want us messing up the atmosphere."

"At least it may do Optimus some good," Megatron said, his engine grumbling slightly. In this at least, Rodimus got what he meant.

"Yeah, I don't know what's going on with Optimus here," he said. "That's just depressing."

"I do not believe chance is responsible," Megatron said, "but ill-treatment."

"Who would dare?" Rodimus asked, almost laughing. But... Optimus wasn't Prime here. Not the way he ought to be. So maybe other bots didn't know... frag, he didn't like that idea. Optimus wasn't _their_ Optimus, but still!

"He spoke of being familiar with Autobot justice," Megatron said. "That should be clue enough." He looked over at Magnus. "Are there any preparations to be made before we leave?"

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. "Unless you wish to prepare a roster for the negotiating team now?"

"I was gonna say Percy, but I'm thinking better of it now that Ratchet got so weird about his name," Rodimus said. "It'll have to be Brainstorm then, since he knows what we need the best. And one of the three of us... urgh, it's not like they're going to be happy with any of us considering we're all 'warframes'."

"Given who I am, perhaps I am not the best choice for first contact with the Autobot government," Megatron suggested, folding his arms over his chestplate.

"No slag." Still, he hadn't thought that would have stopped him. Rodimus eyed Megatron suspiciously. "It _was_ your idea to come here though."

"It is merely the most efficient way of getting home," Megatron replied. "My presence at the negotiations is more likely to hinder that than help. And Magnus... it may be somewhat awkward to see an alternate of their own gravely injured leader."

"Why do I feel like this is an excuse for the two of you to be up here on the ship alone?" Rodimus demanded.

"We will hardly be alone," Ultra Magnus said. "It was my intention to propose that your team is initially comprised of the smaller, less intimidating individuals among us, at least until the denizens of this reality have acclimated to the idea of us."

Rodimus vented out. "Okay, yeah, I can't argue with logic." Unfortunately. "So me, Brainstorm, and who then? Rewind and Tailgate are the only little guys on board, and Cyclonus and Chromedome won't be happy about us sending them off without their conjunx."

"Of the two, Chromedome is less likely to cause concern," Megatron said. "He is less physically intimidating than Cyclonus, and they are unlikely to be aware of his profession."

"Assuming they don't have their own version of him working for them," Rodimus said. "I guess that makes sense though. Five bots total, three warframes and two minibots - or regular civilians to them. Okay. Let everyone know about the plans Mags."

\----

"Look, Sari," Optimus said, trying not to quail in the face of her upset, angry expression. "It just isn't the right time for you to come with us."

"What are you talking about 'not the right time'?" Sari asked, clearly fuming. "Exactly _why_ is it not the right time?"

The truth was that Optimus simply did not trust Sentinel's regime right now. Cybertron in general hated organics, and Sentinel had a particular grudge after what had happened with Elita. Techno-organics fell under the exact same umbrella. He could not be sure what would happen to her after she arrived. He was certain that Sentinel would not do anything too extreme, particularly since he had met Sari on Earth, but he was less certain about other members of the Council after what Ratchet had shared with them.

After witnessing Ratchet's extreme reaction to the mention of Perceptor's name, Optimus had asked him about it. Ratchet had not been eager to discuss the matter, but had eventually told them all about the creation of Omega Supreme and his kin, and Ratchet's struggles with what had been done to them as part of the process. The Military Science Division had told him it was necessary to make them 'safe', but that didn't stop Optimus feeling deeply uncomfortable with the whole idea. He could tell everyone had been.

It was... alarming to say the least, to learn that this was what the Science Division under Perceptor had been getting up to. Yes, it had been wartime, and yes, the Omega Sentinels had been vital to the cease-fire with the Decepticons that had lasted all these years but... had there really not been any other way? Without those measures would the Sentinels be as dangerous as all that? As vicious as any other warframe, and liable to up and join the 'Cons the first chance they got?

The Council had obviously thought so. Still, there had to have been a better way.

"I'm not hearing a good excuse," Sari told him.

"Things are... in turmoil on Cybertron right now," Optimus said. "I don't know what the Council plans to do with our prisoners, and what the Decepticons might choose to do in return. I hope that once we've left Earth with Megatron, all of the 'Con's attention will be focused on us, not on getting revenge on your planet. It should be safer here. Once things have settled down, we can make more of a planned visit for you." And make sure Perceptor didn't know about her, he thought to himself. Yes, it would no doubt help Sari to know more about herself, but it didn't sound like Perceptor would be the right person to ask to find out.

"We'll still have the spacebridge you know," Sari said. "I could come through any time I wanted."

"Is your dad going to be alright with you doing that?" Optimus pointed out. Sari looked away.

"No way," she said grudgingly. "He'd freak out."

"Are you really asking me to go against your father's wishes?" Optimus wasn't above using guilt to get his way here.

"Urg, how dare you use a sensible argument against me!" Sari said. "Fine, fine. I _won't_ come. Not right now anyway. But if any of you guys need my help or... or you just miss me, you better call! Or come back to visit really, really soon, you got that!"

"Of course we will," Optimus said, relieved.

\----

Megatron did not bother to look up when the door opened or at the approaching pedesteps, but he did when the energy shield guarding his cell shut off. All of them were there; this little crew of spacebridge technicians who had proved themselves the match of any of his Decepticon warriors. It could mean only one thing. They had finally arrived on Cybertron.

Ratchet pressed a button on the remote in his servo and the force holding his stasis cuffs down released. "On your pedes," the medic said.

"That may not be possible," Megatron replied, gesturing to his untreated wounds.

"You don't have far to walk," Ratchet said. "There's a hover-sled waiting outside in the corridor. You can either be strapped into that, or we carry you. Your choice which you reckon is more humiliating."

"I think I'll take the sled." He was trying to sound calm and certain in himself, but mostly what he was, was tired. Tired of being in pain. Tired of the itch and burn of self-repair under his plating doing its best with the mess the Autobots had left it, and no doubt failing or knitting things together wrong. He was tired of sitting trapped in this one position for cycles on end, and tired of knowing his comrades were in just the same situation while he was helpless to aid them.

Ratchet shrugged. "Suit yourself. Now, you gonna get up and go to it or what?"

Megatron tried to stand for the first time since his defeat. Stiff joints creaked, and he could hear his own plating clashing against itself as he trembled with the effort and the sharp stabs of agony that shot through him. After a few false starts, he managed to lever himself to his pedes, but the idea of taking an actual step forwards seemed insurmountable. Ratchet vented.

"Alright, looks like we'll be carrying you some after all. Bulkhead, Optimus, you think you got this?"

"I think you've made the right choice about that sled," Optimus remarked, coming forwards to act as support. If he weren't weak as a electrokitten and in stasis cuffs, this would have been the perfect time to try and make his escape. As it was he had calculated the chances of success and it simply wasn't worth the likelihood of further injury. There was no way out of this predicament.

With an Autobot on either side Megatron made it out into the corridor where they pushed him back against the promised hover-sled. Heavy restraints hissed out of the bed of it to fasten him down. He shifted uncomfortably, testing if there was any give. No. He hadn't really expected that there would be any.

Ratchet continued to keep a close optic on him while Optimus went to a couple of doors further down and disappeared briefly inside. He came out the first pushing Shockwave in front of him, handing him over to the rest of the crew, and then fetched Lugnut from the next. When Lugnut spotted Megatron his optics irised wide and he made an abortive motion forwards as though to try and do something. The stasis cuffs sent enough energy through his circuits to bring him to his knees and leave the scent of ozone and burning metal perfuming the air.

"Megatron," Lugnut shouted. "I thought you must be dead!"

"Only half way there," Megatron replied.

"The people are waiting Optimus," Ratchet said. Optimus looked away from Lugnut guiltily.

"Yes, of course," he said, and went over to fetch something out of Megatron's line of sight. When he came back into view he had the Magnus Hammer slung over his shoulder. Megatron's plating throbbed with remembered agony. Oh yes. That hammer.

The hover-sled began to move. They assembled in Omega's hanger, Optimus leading, his three prisoners arrayed in a line behind him, then the rest of the crew, pallbearers carrying a coffin. That must be their fallen cyberninja comrade. The doors slid open and Megatron had to wait a moment for his optics to adjust to the change in light. His audials picked up the cheer of a crowd, whoops, whistles, shouted invectives and curses towards himself and his soldiers. He ground his dentae together.

His vision cleared. It seemed half the population of Iacon had come out to greet them, which was no great surprise. Hail the conquering heroes. Hail the Prime who defeated Megatron. Hail the Autobots, rightful masters and tamers of their unruly weapons. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to burn this city to a cinder and see all of these screaming faces slack and dead.

Then the weariness overtook him again. He was never going to manage an escape. He could not hope for rescue here, from his own Decepticons or from Bulkhead, who might be doubting his faction but never _that_ much. Revenge was not on the cards, and even if it had been he did not _really_ wish to come to Cybertron as that kind of conqueror.

He was not a hypocrite, after all.

Ah, and there was Sentinel _Magnus_ , standing at the front of the crowd with two guards at his back. The orange and blue mechs lacked any obvious alt-mode kibble, which was interesting, but it was unlikely he would ever have an answer to that small puzzle. Sentinel was hardly the only ranking bot here either. Cliffjumper and a contingent from Intelligence were present, glaring daggers at Shockwave, and he did not miss Alpha Trion's presence either despite his attempts to blend in.

It would be the perfect time for an aerial bombardment or an assassination, if only such a thing were possible.

Sentinel strode forwards, a somewhat forced smile on his faceplates. "Welcome home Optimus Prime!" he called out, loud enough for the crowd to hear. When he got close enough he grabbed Optimus' servo - to the mech's clear surprise - and shook it firmly. Then turning to the gathered bots, he raised Optimus' arm high in the air. Whoops and cheers rose in a wave, for a moment an almost physical wall of sound.

"Ah... thank you all," Optimus said, faceplates heating. He clearly had no idea how to react to any of this.

"People of Cybertron," Sentinel Magnus said, letting go of the Prime and taking a step forward. "This is the bold team who have succeeded in capturing our greatest enemies! The so-called 'Mighty Megatron' and two of his top officers have fallen before the true might of Cybertron, as wielded by me, your Magnus." Megatron could almost have smiled at the naked grandiosity of it, though it would not have been from pleasure. Sentinel had nothing to do with any of this. Even if he had not already been aware of the mech's character from the reports of those who had tangled with him before, this would have made it more than clear.

"With Megatron our prisoner, this war with the Decepticons will soon be over," Sentinel continued. Far from it, but Megatron was hardly about to interrupt this nonsense. "We will force them to surrender, and then you all will be able to live your lives in peace for the first time in living memory!"

Had he written this speech himself? Megatron had to wonder.

"Soldiers of the Elite Guard!" Sentinel shouted. "Escort the prisoners! We have a party for our heroes to get to!"

\----

The quantum energy wreathing the ship dissipated as the _Lost Light_ pushed through into reality once more. The bridge viewport cleared and they could look out at Cybertron before them, a glowing orb pale in the distance, streaked with light, garlanded with moons. Megatron looked upon it and thought of poetry he had once written from before he had ever been permitted to see this sight with his own optics. From out here he could almost imagine this was the perfect utopia he had dreamed of, had shaped in his head with his words. Out here the rot could not be seen.

"Every time I see our home, it looks so different," Rodimus said. "It still looked alive when we left it the first time, and then... millions of years had passed and it was dying, a ghost. Now it's something new again in our reality, and something _else_ new here." He vented out. "I guess it was worth coming at least to see the view."

That was surprisingly thoughtful, from him.

"Sensors are picking up a number of other vessels," Ultra Magnus noted. "Some appear civilian; trading vessels, cargo ships and the like, but I can also see a number of military cruisers as well."

"Yeah, I didn't exactly think they would leave Cybertron undefended with us big scary warframes coming to visit," Rodimus said. "Let me guess, these co-ordinates put us right in their firing solutions in case we get frisky, right?" Magnus nodded. Rodimus vented and jumped up out of his chair. "Well let's not spend any time longer here than necessary."

"Don't take the Rodpod," Megatron said before he could leave the bridge. Rodimus turned back towards him.

"C'mon Megs, why not?"

"We are here to do business. It is important that they take you seriously."

"Don't know if you noticed, but I'm not a very serious person," Rodimus said, grinning. Megatron thought he had spent enough time around his co-Captain now to be fairly confident that half of his ridiculous behaviour was to wind him up. He tried not to rise to the bait.

"Be careful down there," he settled for saying. "They have reasons not to be fond of us. Don't give them any more."

Once Rodimus had left Megatron looked over at Ultra Magnus, who was staring at him from his console where he had been monitoring their sensor suite. "What is it?" Megaton asked, venting. "I can feel you trying to glare a hole in the side of my helm."

Ultra Magnus carefully did not claim he would never do such a thing. "Captain, don't you think we should have told him what we have learned from your alternate?" he asked.

Megatron had been expecting the question. "Have you not noticed Magnus that sometimes Rodimus will do exactly the opposite of what you ask him to do?" He had at first believed it to be something Rodimus did simply because it was Megatron himself asking, but he occasionally did this with Ultra Magnus as well so no, it was just a Rodimus thing. To be fair to his co-Captain, often it did seem to be simple disagreement with their opinions, but not always.

"I have noticed that trait," Magnus admitted. "However the decision has already been made, and his choice was outvoted by the two of us to his one. There is no reason to attempt some kind of... reverse psychology. I am certain that if he heard what the Autobots here have done in the past..."

"Rodimus would not trust the information once he discovered its source," Megatron said. "Not when it comes from a version of me, and _particularly_ not when said version is still a Decepticon."

"But surely given that both of us believe its veracity he would listen to us?"

"He would believe I am simply trying to delay my judgement," Megatron said.

Ultra Magnus paused. "I have tried not to have that thought myself," he said reluctantly, as though it was a confession being dragged out of him, or admitting to a weakness. "I have not seen any evidence of that kind of motive from you."

"Thank you for your trust in me."

Magnus looked away. Megatron's sensors picked up a slight trace of heat in his faceplates, something that also caused the slight whirr of his fans to pick up in order to dissipate it. "So far you have been entirely what I would hope for in a Captain," he said. "I only wish that Rodimus would see that you have changed, and that the two of you could learn to work together. I sometimes despair of him, though that is a terrible thing to say, isn't it?"

"Rodimus is very loyal to his crew," Megatron said, "and that is a virtue. But that loyalty outstrips the value he might place on the lives, safety and comfort of those he does not know. Depending on what we find on Cybertron, once we have felt them out, you and I may find that ethics require us to remain in this dimension longer than we need to. We may need to restart the quest for a just world that _both_ Optimus and I started millennia ago.

"Given the choice between trying to save this world, and trying to save his crew, Rodimus is going to pick the latter. No matter that we two might disagree with him."

"So we should simply continue to keep our true intentions here secret from him?" Magnus argued. "Captain, the two of us would still outvote him. What does it matter? Doesn't he have a right to know?"

"We _will_ tell him eventually," Megatron said. "Once we have incontrovertible proof that only the crew of the _Lost Light_ can help those in need here. Before then I worry that he might do something foolhardy."

"Very well," Ultra Magnus said, although Megatron could tell that he was still uneasy. "But it will be soon, won't it?"

"Of course."

\----

Brainstorm tapped his digits nervously against the datapad he was holding. He had the list of items all prepared, but he had very little idea of what to expect from the locals. Of course, they had been welcomed here. If they were going to be hostile, then surely they would simply have forbidden them to come? They didn't know much about the government of this version of Cybertron. There had been a few sparse details from Optimus and his crew, or in the documents the Council had passed on. They had been led by Ultra Magnus, but he'd been severely injured recently and was in stasis. No-one knew if he would recover. In the meantime Sentinel Prime was acting Magnus - not exactly a name to strike comfort into the sparks of anyone. Military Intelligence and Scientific Research were also represented in the Council, by Cliffjumper and a version of Perceptor, apparently.

Would Cliffjumper be the same size as he was used to, or would he be a minibot to the minibots? Now _there_ was a mental image. Brainstorm grinned under his faceplate - which he had scrubbed the Decepticon symbol off of, thank you very much! He wasn't an idiot.

Seeing what Perceptor was like here was going to be interesting as well. He was imagining regular Perceptor, just short, which was very cute.

The shuttle banked, then levelled off. The engines dropped their pitch, suggesting they were slowing down and coming in for a landing. Brainstorm looked over at the rest of the away team. "You guys all feeling up to this?" he asked.

"What's to feel up to?" Tailgate asked, punching the air with a servo. "This is super cool! Besides, I'm going to get to feel big for once."

"Yes, I can see that the two of you are going to be making a lot of friends," Chromedome said, looking down fondly at the two minibots.

Rewind tapped the side of his head, where the red light of his inbuilt camera was blinking slow and steady. "This footage is going to be something special," he said, with a hint of smugness. "I'm thinking of making a documentary out of all this when we get back home. 'Adventures in the Beyond', or something like that."

"Sounds cool," Rodimus said, appearing from the cabin. "We're here guys. Game faces on. Let's go."

The landing ramp hissed downwards, and they strode out following their Captain's lead. At least, Brainstorm _started_ to stride out, but he didn't make it more than a few paces before he saw who was waiting for them and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Quark?" he said, in a very small voice.

That was who it looked like, sure enough. The small mech standing at the front of the waiting group was shorter, and he actually had colours in his plating rather than Quark's favoured simple matt silver, but in form and frame and... and _everything else_ , it was Quark.

He was alive here! Brainstorm felt his spark beating erratically against the inside of its chamber as he forced himself out of stupor and began to approach. His optics were fixed on Quark, as though the moment he looked away his first love would simply disappear, a figment of an overcharged imagination. He was real though. Real, and solid and... and Brainstorm realised what this was. It was a second chance, an opportunity that would never come again. It didn't matter that this was another universe. This was... this was fate! Or something like it!

Quark looked up at him with cool curiosity as he approached. "This is the final member of your party?" he asked and... it wasn't Quark's voice. Not even slightly like it. It was harsh and unmodulated, pure glyphs without any of the typical ornamentation and meaning that a mech's natural speaking voice would give them. He paused again.

Something was wrong here.

Yet... it was still Quark in front of him. It was hard to think of anything else. Nothing else mattered.

"Yeah, this is Brainstorm," Rodimus said. "I guess it's time for introductions all round right? I'm Rodimus, Captain of the _Lost Light_ . These little... uh, regularly sized guys are Rewind and Tailgate, and this is Chromedome, Rewind's _conjunx_ ." That got a reaction, mostly from the other bots in the group. Quark just blinked. Rodimus hesitated. "You do... uh, you do have _conjunxes_ here, right?"

"We do," Quark said. The strange voice was pinging something in Brainstorm's memory banks, but he couldn't quite figure out what. "However not between warframes and civilian frames."

"Yeah, I guess that wouldn't really happen what with all your warframes being 'Cons and all that, right," Rodimus said. "Anyway, you didn't introduce yourself."

"I am Perceptor," not-in-fact-Quark-at-all said. Brainstorm felt like someone had taken his gyroscope out and shaken it up and down several dozen times. What was even going on here? What kind of trick was the universe playing on him? Why did Perceptor here look exactly like Quark? Yes, now he'd said it, Brainstorm could see that his colours were Percy's colours, but aside from that they looked nothing alike! Even with the scope barrel on alternate Perceptor's shoulder... well, Quark and Perceptor both had the same alt mode didn't they!

"I am head of the Scientific Research Division on Cybertron," Perceptor continued. "It is my hope that we both will be able to learn from this experience. Your presence here is highly irregular, but it is in the irregularities where science flourishes."

"Sure, yeah, go science," Rodimus said. "Hey, why do you talk like that?"

Brainstorm tried not to cringe. It wasn't exactly polite to ask someone something like that.

"It is a side effect," Perceptor said, apparently unbothered by the conversation. "During the height of the war it became apparent to me that our department would require every resource available to prevail against the Decepticons. I was not functioning to my fullest capacity. Therefore I wrote a program to delete my emotional subroutines to free up processor space. It was most successful."

"Uh, you what?" Rodimus said.

That little thread of memory finally pinged in Brainstorm's processor. He realised what he had been reminded of. Shockwave. This was exactly what had been done to Shockwave along with his empurata, and even then, his voice was no-where near _this_ badly off. Only Percy had actually chosen to do it to _himself_. Of his own free will!

Brainstorm had no idea what he was feeling right now. Everything was just churning round and round in his processor in time to the pained beat of his spark. Was he happy, sad, angry, despairing? He couldn't sort it all out inside of him. He just knew that this was not what he'd thought it to be, and that there was something deeply wrong here.

"Anyway..." Rodimus said, stretching the word out. "We came here to talk business, didn't we? So let's... do that."

"Very well," Perceptor said, nodding. "This way."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is not quite right on Cybertron, for any of our heroes. 
> 
> Warnings for implied non-con in this chapter. Tags updated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Perceptor and Cliffjumper are The Worst in this chapter. Cliff at least has bought their own propaganda, and Perceptor... well, he's just very goal orientated. 
> 
> Also please remember - I believe in happy endings.

Tailgate wasn't really paying attention to Brainstorm's presentation. It was either weird science and long words that made his processor ache and go fuzzy, or it was stuff that he already knew about the reality they all came from. He was more interested in the bots all around them. Everyone was him-sized. Even the _furniture_ was him-sized. Usually he had to spend a lot of time adjusting chairs, but here his pedes were actually touching the floor!  Chromedome and Rodimus both looked awkward, legs crammed uncomfortably under the table. It was like Tailgate was getting to look at the world in a completely different way.

He'd also gotten to meet - well sort of - his first alternate version of someone they knew. Perceptor here was... kind of creepy actually. Just a little bit. Tailgate didn't like to think badly of other bots, but who did something like deleting their own emotions to make more room in their processor? Percy didn't even _look_ like Percy. It wasn't just that he was small, but his frame looked really different. Maybe it was that which was throwing Brainstorm off. He kept stammering over his words sometimes, mostly when he looked over at where Perceptor was sitting. That wasn't like him. Brainstorm was always really confident and he _loved_ talking about 'Science!'. He always said it like that, 'Science!', the glyph overlaid with emphasis and excitement.

Everyone else seemed to be listening intently. Perceptor certainly was. Rewind was recording, of course. Tailgate had plenty of time to study the other bots here. He didn't think any of them were alternates of people on the _Lost Light_ , and he didn't really know anyone else even back home. Anyway, size wasn't the only way that they were like him. As a waste disposal mech about the only decent thing he'd been outfitted with was a scanner, mostly in case there was anything valuable that had been thrown out with the rest of the garbage. So he could tell that these bots had thin plating like his own, not the heavy, thick stuff basically everyone else did. Except Rung actually, now that he thought about it.

He'd asked Cyclonus about the plating thing, oh, way back. Not long after Cyclonus had stopped ignoring him all the time. Cyclonus had said it was because of the war. He had been a warrior even six million plus years ago, so he had always been built like this, but apparently _everyone_ had started getting their plating upgraded once the war began. If they hadn't been able to, then they hadn't survived to regret it.

That was probably something to do with this whole 'civilian and warframe' divide they had here. Although they _had_ been to war with the Decepticons in this universe, so why hadn't they started doing plating upgrades too? Maybe he could ask them later. They were going to be doing something cultural after the presentation apparently.

Brainstorm had finally finished talking. Tailgate sat up and clapped along politely with everyone else, pretending he had been listening all along.

"Thank you Brainstorm," Perceptor said, leaning forwards. His flat, harsh, uninflected voice grated in Tailgate's audials. He had to concentrate to even understand what he was saying without the usual glyph tones. "In the interests of science, we wish to continue to learn of your world. In return, we shall teach you of ours. Naturally we wish for you to have complete and accurate information."

"Th... thank you," Brainstorm said, but Rodimus interrupted whatever he was going on to.

"Yeah, you mentioned that when we sat down. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Iacon is not simply the seat of our government. It is also a cultural centre," Perceptor explained. "I have arranged for us to tour the Museum of History. It is now after hours, so your presence will not be alarming to our citizens."

"Wouldn't want to alarm anyone," Rodimus said, with a bright grin. Tailgate was a little worried about that grin. Their Captain was a  bit impulsive sometimes, and when he smiled like that it was usually right before some kind of mission, or 'field-trip', as Rodimus often called them, that involved dangerous, impulsive things.

"If you will follow me," Perceptor said.

Rodimus headed to the front of the group as they all set off through the building, apparently trying to engage Perceptor in conversation. Brainstorm trailed close behind, optics fixed on the alternate Percy. Yeah, there was something strange going on there. Brainstorm's crush on Perceptor wasn't exactly the ship's best kept secret, but he didn't usually act like this around him. So why now, with this version?

Tailgate found himself walking alongside one of Perceptor's scientists, a slender femme with big optics. "Hi," he said, trying to get her attention. "I guess you'd know my name because I was introduced along with everyone else, but we haven't properly met."

"Oh, hi," she said, giving him a bright smile. "I'm Scope. That talk from your big warframe friend was really interesting. Things seem so strange where you come from. Warframes everywhere - and you just live alongside them?"

"Well it's not really a big deal," Tailgate said. "Not like everyone here is making it out to be. I think your warframes must be very different from ours, the way all of you talk about them. I'm just surprised that nobody here ever upgraded their frames - surely fighting a war couldn't have been very safe with you all so thin-plated like this!"

"You talk about it like it's easy!"

"I mean, I know you can only build a frame out so far depending on how strong the spark is," Tailgate said, "but that doesn't mean you couldn't install weapons, armour plating, without getting as big as them..."

She laughed, but it held a nervous edge to it. "It's not so much the hardware as the software," she said, almost whispering, which confused him. Were they talking about something secret? "War-coding makes bots dangerous. They're only safe around other war-coded bots; other warframes. You _could_ do that to yourself... but you wouldn't be _you_ anymore."

"Really?" Tailgate asked, surprised. He was sure Ratchet might have mentioned something like that. After the whole 'first interface' thing with Cyclonus - and oh boy, hadn't _that_ been embarrassing - Ratchet had upgraded his firewalls to war-grade standards while Cyclonus fussed around not actually _saying_ anything, but clearly fritzing out over taking their relationship to a level neither of them had actually _meant_ to...

Anyway, the point was that the software upgrades certainly hadn't changed _his_ personality. He would have definitely noticed.

"There _have_ been some experiments more recently," Scope continued. "It was on a couple of mechs who were on the edge of offlining though. One barely had a processor left at all. Even then they still had some kind of safeguards installed for their combat programming."

"Safeguards?" Tailgate asked.

"It wasn't my department," Scope said. "So I don't know the details. _I_ wondered if it was maybe a way of switching coding modes; civilian coding to warframe coding and back, you know?"

"That sounds very interesting," Tailgate said, "but honestly, I still don't understand why your warframes are so different to ours. Nobody I know is _dangerous_ like you're talking about." Okay, so that wasn't _entirely_ true. There was Whirl. He was a special case though, and it wasn't as though every bot that wasn't a mini was like Whirl.

A ship full of Whirls. That was kind of a frightening thought. He could maybe see why people would worry if all the Decepticons here had Whirl's personality.

"Maybe not to other warframes," Scope said, "but what about you and your friend?" She tilted her helm to indicate Rewind. "Haven't you ever felt... threatened? Unsafe? If they wanted to do something you could never defend yourself!"

It seemed like this was making her really anxious. It was kinda nice that she was worried about their safety, but she really didn't need to be. "Nobody I know would want to _hurt_ us," he said confidently. "Anyway even if they did, I'm pretty sure Chromedome and Cyclonus would have something to say about that!"

"Chromedome? That's the white and orange one, right?" Scope pointed to where Chromedome was walking at Rewind's side. "So he and Cyclonus are good friends of yours?"

"He's Rewind's _conjunx_ , not just his _amica_ ," Tailgate explained. "Not that... um... not that Cyclonus and I are really at that stage of a relationship, I mean, maybe one day..." He trailed off with a nervous laugh.

Scope stopped walking. Tailgate moved a few paces on before he realised and came back. "What is it?" he asked.

"Your Captain said that before. I wasn't sure whether to believe it. Your friend's _conjunx_ really is that warframe?"

"Why are you saying it like _that_?" Tailgate asked. "Look, the others are getting ahead of us. We'll get lost if we don't go and catch up." They had started to fall a little bit behind anyway during their conversation, now he thought about it.

"Did he have any choice in the matter?" Scope whispered. She was staring at the pair as they walked away from them.

"I think you kind of have to, to do the _conjunx_ rite?" Tailgate said, honestly perplexed.

"But why would he want that? I mean surely they can't be compatible..."

"I really don't understand what you mean," Tailgate said plaintively. "Are you just saying that because you don't like warframes here? I don't get why no-one believes us about home! Why would we be lying?"

Scope took a deep vent in, cycling her fans in a brief roar. When she spoke again she sounded calm. Controlled. "You're right. The others are getting away from us. We should probably talk about this some other time, when we're not going to be late for a tour."

"Okay," Tailgate said slowly. What had just happened? "You're just acting really weird, that's all."

"No, it's nothing," Scope said. "We can talk about it later."

\----

Rodimus had never been very interested in history. When it came to important events back home, he had lived through most of them. The stuff from before then didn't matter anymore. Megatron had killed any significance of that ancient history when he had slaughtered the Senate. Besides although Optimus had talked about them sometimes, Rodimus had never been to the Great Archives of Iacon when they had still been standing, before the bombs had fallen and the vast memory banks had burned. He hadn't even been to the museum in Nyon. Fancy slag like that was out of his league. He could barely afford to keep himself fuelled back then, let alone splash out on something that was only half-way reliable because of memory-creep anyway.

This place was as glittering and grand as he imagined either of those buildings might have been. Vast vaulted ceilings, tall columns, inlays of real stone on the floor, not just normal metal. There also seemed to be a lot of statues in heroic poses.

Rodimus was bored out of his processor. The tour-guide weird-Percy had organised for them was dull as ore, and had a voice that droned like an over-capacity power cable. He would have forgotten the mech's name already if he didn't have it etched on a nameplate. Amberfast. Urgh. He couldn't wait for this to be over.

Megs and Mags ought to be the ones here for this. They were boring old exhaust-pipes who actually got a kick out of this sort of thing.

It all seemed to be fairly straightforward anyway, from the bits of the talk he caught when he was half-heartedly paying attention. Decepticons bad, Autobots good. Decepticons had enough of being soldiers and taking orders, decided they wanted to be the ones giving the orders, tried to take over Cybertron, washed the stars in energon, valiantly defeated by Autobots... or at least, driven back to the edges of the Empire, blah, blah, blah.

There _were_ a few kind of cool-looking weapons in display cases. Broken or deactivated, obviously, but still interesting to look at. Roddy would have expected Brainstorm to start asking all kinds of questions about them, except that he had been really quiet ever since giving his presentation. It was starting to worry him. He just wasn't acting like himself.

Okay, things had been off ever since the whole 'go back in time and kill Megatron at birth' thing, but not quite like this.

Oh well, he could ask him when all this was over and they got back to the _Lost Light._

"Thank you Professor Amberfast," Perceptor said, his harsh voice waking Rodimus out of his contemplation. "A succinct summation of events. Enlightening, I am certain." He turned to Rodimus. "I hope you and your companions have enjoyed this experience."

"Yeah, yeah, it was great," Rodimus lied. "Could we maybe just firm up our timeline a little before we go? About trading for the things on Brainstorm's list...?"

Perceptor nodded. "Of course," he said. "We will need some time to search through our inventories. Let us agree to have you return in two cycles. Naturally you may feel free to bring more of your crew next time. I am sure that they would appreciate the shore-leave."

"Yeah, we might play with the team roster a little bit," Rodimus said. "Only fair, if you guys don't mind having warframes around too much."

"I think we are more than able to accommodate you," Perceptor replied. A strange chill ran up Rodimus' backstrut. There was a sense of unease that he couldn't quite put a digit on, curling where the Matrix once had sat.

"Okay then," he said. "Thanks." As the away-team started to leave, he saw one of the femmes approaching the scientist.

"Perceptor sir," she said, just audible. "I have some things to report to you."

\----

This wasn't precisely a meeting of the Council. It wasn't official, and nothing was going to be written down. It was simply Cliffjumper and Perceptor, sitting in a soundproofed, heavily shielded room in Iacon Towers. It was the day after the _Lost Light_ warframes had visited, and Cliffjumper was no more comfortable to have their warship metaphorically hanging over them now than when they had first arrived.

"What do you think then?" he asked Perceptor.

"I believe it will be possible to capture them alive," Perceptor replied. "I have formulated several options which should serve. The most optimum configuration will depend upon their actions."

Cliffjumper fidgeted with his encrypted datapad. "I watched the security footage," he said. "They have civilians with them."

"Correct. Two. One was most forthcoming with one of my scientists."

Cliffjumper looked up, startled. "Did he say anything interesting?"

"The one called Rewind is _conjunx_ with the warfame Chromedome."

Cliffjumper tapped his digits against the edge of his 'pad. A nervous habit. His spark pulsed uneasily in his chest. "That's how the relationship was described? _Conjunx_?"

Perceptor nodded. "By both the civilian and the warframe Captain. One must wonder at the effect of growing up in a world of warframes on a normal Cybertronian's processor. They spoke of war. Autobot warframes fighting Decepticon warframes. And civilians like these must have been caught in between."

"You think they would do anything to survive that?" Cliffjumper said. "Latch on to someone big and strong enough to protect them?"

"Scope's report stated that Tailgate appeared eager to finalise his own relationship with a warframe. Can you imagine they permit civilian bots any kind of influence on their own?"

With Perceptor it was always difficult to tell if he was bothered about things. Mostly, Cliffjumper suspected he was not. Even when it was something that any right-thinking mech _should_ be bothered about. He didn't _want_ to think the worst of whatever relationship these poor civilians had, but he was Intelligence. It was his job to be prepared for the worst. _Conjunx_ implied interface. Even if a mech their size lay back and tried to enjoy it...

He supposed that there were perverts out there who liked the idea of that. Pinned down and ravished by a vicious, hungry warframe. Allspark knew his Department had confiscated plenty of illicit and illegal materials along those lines in the past. Yet he was fairly sure even the bots who had spent their credits on such deviance were able to separate fantasy from reality. That... Chromedome... wasn't the largest warframe out there, but even so it seemed obvious that they simply couldn't be mechanically compatible. Not without severe injury.

These were warframes they were talking about. Their very programming made them domineering, highly aggressive. They would hardly allow some civilian to spike _them_ , rather than the other way around.

"The dynamics of their society aside," Perceptor said, interrupting the dark turn of his thoughts. "This is a point of leverage."

"Leverage... Perceptor, surely these poor mechs have suffered enough! Are you really intending to take them as hostages? Why would you even assume the warframes would care about their toys that much?"

"Relying on a level of attachment would be a gamble," Perceptor agreed. "However a distraction is a distraction, of whatever kind."

"And what then? Afterwards? When the warframes are under control, do you think Tailgate and Rewind will even realise what that means for them? Do you think they will understand that they're able to leave?"

Perceptor's helm tilted, a sign of curiosity. "Do you wish to offer them a new life here, Cliffjumper Prime?"

"If their lifelong indoctrination lets me." He wasn't about to be ashamed of that. Wanting to help innocent bots was hardly something to _be_ ashamed about. He decided to change the subject. "And their warship? I assume you've included that in your plans. They're not about to leave it entirely unguarded."

Perceptor nodded. "Once their main party has been captured we will commandeer their shuttle. An experienced unit of Elite Guard will use it to dock with the warship and will deal with the remaining warframes. We will then possess both sufficient experimental subjects, and a powerful vessel to add to the fleet."

"Naturally you've thought of everything," Cliffjumper said dryly.

"That is my function." And this from the mech who had deleted parts of his own processor to fulfil that function better. Perceptor could be frightening at times. Cliffjumper simply reminded himself to be glad that he was on _their_ side.

\----

Everything had been so very busy since they had returned to Cybertron. After so long on Earth, and out in the wild, empty reaches of space before that, Optimus had almost forgotten what his home was like. There had been changes since he was last here. Buildings torn down and rebuilt. Shops that had closed and reopened as new businesses. Even the feeling on the streets was different - not that there had been much opportunity to get out and about. Even if Sentinel hadn't been keeping him busy with an entire calendar of events, he wasn't sure if going out would be a very good idea. The one time he had tried, he'd been mobbed by mechs and femmes wanting to talk to him, get his signature, or have their picture taken alongside him as the hero of the hour.

Optimus sighed. The last time he had been in Iacon, it had been in Elite Guard barracks. Now he was in an apartment in Iacon Towers, in the seat of government itself. Sentinel Magnus lived up here too, in a penthouse at the top of one of the spires - though not the same one as Optimus. Jazz had disappeared off to give a report of his own to the department of Military Intelligence, and he hadn't seen him since. Ratchet and Arcee were with Omega Supreme at an Elite Guard base on the outskirts of the city. They had been told it was the only place large enough to house the massive shuttle-mech. Bee and Bulkhead had been given promotions, made part of the Elite Guard in a ceremony that had all felt very rushed, and been sent to the barracks. He hadn't seen them since.

 _Everything_ had felt rushed since they had gotten back. That first cycle, with the parade and the grand dinner and the medals and the party with all the senators and diplomats... It had left his processor whirling, hardly able to keep up with it all. Megatron, Shockwave and Lugnut had been escorted away. Optimus had managed to corner Sentinel at one point during the party to ask what would happen to them. Sentinel had almost brushed his question off, but Optimus had pressed him and he'd said they would be taken to Trypticon Prison in Kaon. Optimus had never heard of it, but then, he had never been to Kaon.

Of course that only answered the question of what would happen right now, not what their eventual fates would be. Given what Bulkhead had said about his conversation with Megatron, Optimus found himself worrying a lot about what the Council and the Senate might have planned. He kept on trying to find out, but all that anyone would say was that it was being debated, and that the Senate had not yet come to a decision. He supposed that did make sense. It wasn't the kind of question that had an easy answer.

Why did he feel like a prisoner here himself, instead of a guest? Every bot he met had nothing but kind words, but all the praise felt empty. They might say that he was a hero, but what exactly did that mean? Sentinel had spoken of a return to the Elite Guard as a Prime, but surely that meant he should be back in officer's barracks, not up here far from everything, in a political world he had no experience of, and didn't know how to navigate? It had barely been more than a few cycles and he was already missing his friends.

What had he been expecting when he returned? Not that Optimus had ever imagined he _would_ return to Cybertron, even less so under these sorts of circumstances. It hadn't been anything like this.

\----

Perceptor looked up from his work as the door to the lab slid open. Brainstorm entered, his optics down and even his wings held tilted low. Perceptor turned the holoprojector off, letting the blueprints of Brainstorm's machine shimmer into nothingness. Something was wrong here. He had expected that Brainstorm would return from Cybertron full of excitement, either enthused to be working on the new version of his spacio-temporal manipulator, or full of stories about the bots he had met including Perceptor's own alternate. Yet instead he looked just as depressed as he had locked up in the brig.

"Hi Percy," Brainstorm said, his voice dull. "Um... I know it's asking a lot, but do you think you could maybe... I could really use a hug right now, that's all."

"That's not asking a lot," Perceptor corrected him, but took the few steps forward necessary to wrap his arms around his friend. Brainstorm leaned into the embrace, resting his weight on Perceptor's chest. He wasn't as heavy as he looked - flightframes rarely were - and it wasn't difficult to support him. Perceptor rubbed the spot between Brainstorm's wings lightly, wondering what in the name of Primus had brought this on.

"Things are kind of messed up here," Brainstorm said at last, his voice slightly muffled from where his face pressed into Perceptor's neck cables. "It's like my greatest hopes and worst nightmares all shoved together."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Perceptor asked.

"You look like Quark here."

Perceptor took a moment to think through the implications of that statement. "The mech you went back in time for?" he asked cautiously. Brainstorm nodded. "That's... strange." He had supposed there would always be a simple one-to-one correlate between the universes. There did not seem to be a good explanation for this world's Perceptor to be an amalgamation of two different alternates.

"And you cut out half of your processor," Brainstorm continued. "Like the Senate did to Shockwave."

Perceptor felt himself stiffen. What had been done to Shockwave had been monstrous, and the ramifications of it had warped both the course of their war, and the reborn Cybertron that had come after it. Their recent trip back home, before the time-travel, before coming here, had been to try and stop one of Shockwave's plans. "The Senate did that to me here?" he asked.

"No. You did it to yourself."

"Why would I ever do something like that?" Perceptor asked, baffled.

"For expediency," Brainstorm said, his plating trembling. "For science."

Perceptor could only imagine it. He had not known Quark, and the records they had from that time were so limited... he didn't know what the mech looked like. He could only think about some smaller, terrible mirror of himself with everything that made him _him_ carved out. He would have been thrown by it as well.

"This world isn't our home," he said, trying to sound soothing. "We'll get back there, and... and you can forget about this reality. That's never going to happen to me."

"Can you keep talking," Brainstorm said. "About anything, I don't mind what. I just want to put that horrid _voice_ out of my processor..."

Perceptor did as he was asked. One thing was certain; he would not let Brainstorm go back down there alone. Not after this.

\----

Tailgate had most of the next two cycles to think about that really strange conversation with the scientist, Scope. He still couldn't figure it out, but he had at least made sure he mentioned it during the debriefing Megatron and Ultra Magnus held when they'd gotten back. From their expressions, he guessed it maybe meant more to them than it did to him, and maybe it wasn't anything good. He wished that he had just come out and asked them, but they had looked so serious and severe and... so _bothered_ by it, that he hadn't dared.

Rodimus hadn't really gone along with the debrief. He had just headed straight up to the bridge saying he would type something up on a datapad for his Co-Captain later. Maybe that was why Megatron and Magnus were so very thorough asking questions of everyone else, like they wanted to know every last little detail about Cybertron here. They were _really_ interested in the museum tour, so Tailgate talked a lot about that. It had been interesting, like an epic tale, but it had also been strangely... clean. More like the story Cyclonus had told him when he had first come on board the _Lost Light_ than the recordings of the war that Rewind had played straight into his processor to show him how things had _really_ been.

Cyclonus hadn't been lying. He just hadn't been telling the whole truth. He'd picked out bits, just the barest ghost of an outline, and waited to see what Tailgate would do - which had been to make the wrong choice entirely. The story that the museum had been telling felt just like that. Like the best parts, and nothing more.

"How interesting," Megatron had said, his voice that low rumble that felt so dangerous. "Was there anything else?" Which was what had led to Tailgate telling them about the conversation, and the way Scope had fritzed out talking about Chromedome and Rewind.

Why would she ask if Rewind had _agreed_ to become Chromedome's _conjunx_ ? What kind of _conjunx_ rite did they have here, if someone could _make_ some other bot go through it? Besides, Rewind might not _look_ like a dangerous mech, but he had recorded some of the worst parts of the war and still got out alive, which said something. He could hold his own if he needed to, certainly better than Tailgate could.

Scope had said they would talk about it more some other time. They were heading back down to Cybertron, so maybe he would see her again when they got there, and he could ask her why she had been so worried in a way she wouldn't wriggle out of this time.

Tailgate slipped into the hanger bay, knowing he was running a little late. Rodimus and the rest of the away team were already waiting there by the shuttle, but a warm, fuzzy feeling opened up inside of his spark when he saw that Cyclonus was there as well. Awww, he hadn't said that he would be coming, which meant this was a surprise just for him! It was in the little things like this that Cyclonus showed that he cared.

"Hi," Tailgate said softly, reaching up to take hold of Cyclonus' servo once he was close enough. Cyclonus looked down and gave a short nod, which from him was just the same as breaking out in a smile. It had taken a while, but Tailgate finally knew how to read him.

It looked like Cyclonus wasn't the only person to join their party. Perceptor was here too, speaking quietly to Brainstorm. It was a pity everybody couldn't come! This Cybertron was so interesting, even if some things about it were odd. Someone had to stay to look after the ship though, he understood that.  

"Whirl wanted to come," Cyclonus said, picking up the direction of his thoughts. "Megatron forbid it. He's sulking now."

"Poor Whirl. I think everyone down there would just be scared of him though. I don't think he would like it really."

Cyclonus hummed in agreement.

"Okay Rod Squad!" Rodimus shouted, from next to the shuttle. "You ready to get our slagging stuff and get the Pit out of here?"

"Time to go," Tailgate said, trying not to let his optics flare with excitement. "I hope we get to see something else as interesting as that museum!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capture, infiltration, outright battle... the true conflict begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated.

Perceptor felt tense all through the flight down to Iacon. He hadn't been willing to let Brainstorm go alone, not this time, not after what he had been told. The horror of it was still strong. His processor kept throwing up possible scenarios for the moment he encountered his alternate, but none of them seemed appropriate to the situation. They needed these people. He couldn't fall back on Wrecker protocols, no matter how much some part of him wanted to.

Brainstorm sat quietly next to him. He wasn't speaking, which in itself was a sign of how nervous and uncomfortable he was. Perceptor kept the distance between them as small as possible, hoping his presence was at least a comfort.

He hadn't brought this up with Rodimus. What was there to speak about? Their co-Captain had seen the same things that Brainstorm had. He had access to the same information. He might not know about Quark, but that was the kind of private business that Perceptor had no right to disclose without Brainstorm's permission, not that his friend was in the right frame of processor to give it at the moment. The fact of it was that having come here, they needed to see the business through, get the parts they needed, and leave. Being uncomfortable and distressed in the presence of the alternate Perceptor was something both Brainstorm and Perceptor himself were simply going to have to push through.

After all, it wasn't as though he had any actual _evidence_ for the deeper suspicions he held, now did he? Yes, this Perceptor had done something awful to himself. Yes, it was what had been done to their own Shockwave. Yes, Shockwave had done terrible things in the name of logic, science and the Decepticon cause. But what _exactly_ was Perceptor worried would happen?

He didn't know. He just knew that instinct - that part of code-chains that whirred away under the surface of a mech's conscious thought - was screaming at him about _something_.   

He intended to keep a very close optic on his alternate all through the next couple of cycles. If he was up to something sinister, he would find out about it, and he would put a stop to it.

\----

When they arrived on Cybertron, everything seemed to be pretty much like it had been on their last visit. Tailgate had more time to appreciate the grand architecture of the government buildings this time, now that his processor wasn't being overloaded with the sheer volume of new details. Even six million years ago someone like him had never been allowed into any important buildings, not even to clean them. He had been stuck down in the bowels of the sewer system, sorting through industrial waste. Did they still look like this back home?

Well, no, they probably didn't. There had been a war, after all. Rewind's footage had shown him snippets of the kind of destruction Cybertron had gone through - and then it had been made over new again and all the old buildings were gone. It was wild now, aside from New Iacon, and Metroplex. They probably wouldn't rebuild things the exact same as they had been.

The corridors they passed through seemed a little busier than last time. Tailgate waved a few times to some of the civilians they passed, but they didn't seem as friendly as he would have hoped. They just stared. Maybe it was the extra warframes. He tried to be persistent anyway. He was sure he would find _someone_ who was willing to be open to diplomatic overtures.

Mind you, it wasn't just the bots around here that were tense. Percy and Brainstorm looked stressed out too, and Cyclonus...

Tailgate didn't get a chance to finish that thought. He had paused for half an astrosecond, distracted by a group of serious-looking bots standing just down a side corridor, when an arm snaked around his throat from behind and the muzzle of a pistol was pressed against the side of his helm. He yelped as he was pulled backwards, not daring to struggle or even turn his helm. He could hear the sounds of fighting just outside of his visual field, Rewind swearing, the clang of someone hitting the ground. Chromedome had turned, visor flaring, started to dart forwards, then pulled up sharply. Tailgate couldn't see Cyclonus. Where was he! He had been here just a moment ago...

"Desist," said the flat-voiced, inflectionless Perceptor. "You will not appreciate the consequences of disobedience."

"Um, this seems... a bit extreme," Tailgate said, trying very hard not to move the slightest micrometer. "Why are you doing this?" He didn't get an answer. In fact if they hadn't been threatening to kill him, he might have thought they were ignoring him entirely. He could see Chromedome flexing his servos, anger making his visor flare even worse, plasma floating up off it. He _still_ couldn't see Cyclonus, which was only making him worry more.

"I think everybody needs to calm the Pit down," Rodimus said, his servos held up towards apparently evil-Perceptor. "Do you guys think we've done something? This is all just a big misunderstanding, right?"

"You will submit to being cuffed," Perceptor said, and gestured to a group of bots - the ones that he'd seen lurking down that passageway! They looked dangerous, sleek and heavily built at least by the standards of this reality, and they all had these Autobot symbols with wings painted on their chestplates. They were also holding stasis-cuffs.

There was movement from the corner of Tailgate's optic. The air cut with a familiar whistle as Cyclonus swung his greatsword down and Tailgate felt it almost skim along his back as someone screamed. He stumbled forwards, the arm around his throat suddenly limp, and let out a startled yelp as the limb actually fell off of him leaving a spray of warm, wet energon over his plating. Behind him someone was snarling and someone was cursing and...

This time it was his own voice screaming, as a sudden jolt of pain stabbed through his shoulder. He spun and fell on the ground, curling around the wound. His digits found sparking wires and charred plating and a slow gush of his own energon. Someone had shot him - a clean through and through.

"Remain still," evil-Perceptor commanded. "The next shot will be to his processor."

Cyclonus snarled, a wordless mechanimal noise. Tailgate rolled onto his back, servo pressed to his shoulder, fans whirring at high pitch to dissipate the heat of whatever had burned through him. He could see evil-Perceptor from this angle. There was a faint line of smoke rising from the barrel of the scope on his shoulder. So it was a gun, just like their own Percy's scope could be. They... they maybe should have guessed that.

Why were they doing this? Why was this happening? He couldn't seem to get his vocaliser to work. He had never been hurt like this before. Even during his long stasis under Cybertron when his legs had been crushed, self-repair had routed his neural network away from the injuries long before he'd been conscious enough to actually notice them. And there had been the whole cybercrosis thing, but that had been numbness rather than pain...

"The larger ones first," Perceptor continued, giving orders to his minions. Tailgate heard the snap and hiss of stasis cuffs activating.

"You will die for this," Cyclonus said, somewhere overhead. Tailgate had never heard him sound so angry, _furious_ in a way he couldn't even describe.

"Look, just tell us what you think we've done!" Rodimus said, sounding more panicked. "This isn't going to go well for any of us, believe me! When Megatron and Ultra Magnus hear about this..."

"The warframes on board your vessel will be dealt with," evil-Perceptor said. He didn't sound like he was bothered by any of this at all. His voice was just the same, emotionless. Tailgate shivered - although that might have more to do with being shot. "Take the civilians as well. Cuff the one who resisted."

"So this is what you've been planning," that was Perceptor's voice - their own Perceptor, he meant. Tailgate's processor was whirling, buffeted with error messages from his injury.

Tailgate found himself being pulled upright. Rewind was struggling as a couple of the guards or whatever they were fastened a set of stasis cuffs around his wrists. Everyone else was already bound, although they hadn't gone quietly - several of these soldier-bots were injured. There were a couple lying still on the ground who might be in stasis or even offline.

Tailgate looked around at his friends. Rodimus looked like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Chromedome and Cyclonus looked like they wanted to kill things. Percy and Brainstorm though... they looked... betrayed. Horrified. He supposed that made sense, when you found out your alternate - or your crush's alternate - was actually completely evil.

Evil-Perceptor cocked his helm at Percy. "It appears that intellect has not been entirely degraded by warframe coding," he said, although it sounded like he was mostly talking to himself. "It is advantageous that we have captured such an alternate. The comparison will no doubt be educational." He signalled to the guards, who started to grab people and shove them forwards. Others were helping their injured comrades.

"Where are you taking us?" Rewind demanded, as they were pushed along. Tailgate almost stumbled, half-falling before he was caught by one of the guards. Their friends had been crowded into a group, with dozens of bots around them with weapons out and... and it looked like they were forcing them to walk in a different direction.

"That's none of your concern," one of the mechs holding Tailgate said. "Don't worry though. You're safe now."

\----

"Rodimus didn't comm us to say that he would be returning early," Magnus said, frowning and looking up from the bridge console. "Yet I am picking up the shuttle's signal on an intercept course."

Megatron came over to join him, studying the console screen. Something about the situation pricked at instincts made sharp by long eons of war. Something wasn't right here. "It has barely been half a cycle since they left," he said. "Even if Rodimus had been spectacularly undiplomatic I cannot imagine there being any need to return so soon."

Magnus locked optics with him. It was clear he was deeply worried by this too. "We were worried that the Autobot Senate in this world might have ill intentions. Particularly after Tailgate's report."

"Yes, but I hadn’t anticipated that they might act so soon," Megatron said, spark pulsing with unease. His alternate had told him what the Senate here was prepared to do to warframes. "It suggests extreme overconfidence." His processor was dropping into that subliminal state of tactical awareness that heralded incipient combat, shedding unnecessary code streams and booting up other, specialised programs. "We cannot take the risk of firing on the shuttle as it approaches," he said, optics flicking across the _Lost Light's_ consoles. "Our current wide orbit has us directly within firing solutions from the planetary defences."

"And there might still be crew members on board," Magnus said, slightly disapproving.

"That too." His priority matrixes were not calibrated to take collateral damage into account. Something he would obviously have to change if he intended to get into many more fights on the Autobot side.

"We must wait until they begin their boarding action," Ultra Magnus said, servo going up to cup his chin as he thought. "It will be difficult to predict our chances without any information on their numbers or disposition of their forces."

"These civilian-framed soldiers will not pose any great risk to us," Megatron said, wishing for the comforting weight of his fusion cannon on his arm. All he had on him were the two small pistols holstered on his hips; they would serve, but there was nothing like a cannon for battlefield domination.

"The mere fact that they have Rodimus' shuttle means that they have captured or otherwise cut our away team off from us."

Megatron let out a vent. "I suppose you're right," he said grudgingly. He was falling into old patterns of behaviour, and it was very possible that they would not serve him best in this situation. "We should be smart about this."

"Indeed," Magnus said. "We do not have only ourselves to think of, after all."

Of course. Whirl had remained on board as well, and there was no possibility at all that he would agree to 'fight smart'. Horrendous violence was more his preference. Wreckers. Pretending they were any better than the worst of Decepticon excesses.

Megatron thought for a few moments, reformulating his plan, feeling things slide into place in his processor with the comforting clarity of focusing a lens. "I have an idea," he said. "It will require you to shed the armour however."

"I am most combat-effective as Ultra Magnus," his second said doubtfully.

"Combat effectiveness is not our primary priority right now," Megatron told him. "Information gathering is, which requires stealth. We need to be able to fit into the ship's vents."

Magnus eyed him with the obvious question clear in his optics.

"You're forgetting my abilities of mass-displacement," Megatron said, and started to concentrate. This was uncomfortable to hold for any length of time, but not actually _difficult_ as such. It was something like pausing half-way through a transformation sequence. It felt unnatural, but it was not dangerous. Under normal circumstances, there was just no good reason for walking around smaller than he was meant to be.

Ultra Magnus started to shed the armour even as Megatron shrank down. When he stepped out as Minimus Ambus, the two of them were matched in height. "Now what sir?" Minimus asked.

"I uploaded and integrated the _Lost Light_ 's schematics some while ago," Megatron said, "although I note they are vague in some areas."

"The ship was acquired second-hand," Minimus noted.

Megatron acknowledged this, and continued, "We can use the vents and the maintenance channels to make our way to their point of entry and take note of their numbers and whatever weapons they might have brought with them. After that our tactics will be more informed. We will find Whirl, and decide on the appropriate level of violence."

"If possible I would prefer to avoid unnecessary offlining."

"Why?" Megatron asked, honestly confused. "They will not offer the same courtesy. Indeed they may have already killed members of our crew - we cannot be sure what has happened to them. They are not deserving of mercy."

Minimus shifted uneasily. His body language was easier to read without the layer of the Magnus armour to filter it. It was a kind of... openness. Vulnerability. It made Megatron feel odd in a way he found difficult to categorise. "If they merely wanted us dead, they could have fired on the ship," he said. "A sustained bombardment would destroy us. A boarding action suggests a desire to take captives."

"Perhaps they simply want the ship," Megatron said, more to play Unicron's advocate. His own strategic subroutines indicated that Minimus' analysis was most probable.

"Then they would at least have fired to disable us before boarding."

Megatron let his engines rumble in agreement. He headed over to an vent panel and started to input his access codes. The heavy shielded cover slid back to reveal the space beyond. Even at their current heights it would be a squeeze for them both. Vents which would allow a significant threat to pass through them would hardly be fit for purpose, although that assumed size and threat level were correlated.

Minimus was quiet as they made their way towards the hanger bay. If their enemies had the shuttle, then they had the transponder codes which would allow them to enter that way. Why waste energon blasting through the hull when one could simply enter normally and catch a presumably unsuspecting foe off-guard? The vents were at times hard to navigate, or required them to assist one another through tricky joins between passages. Squeezed into tight tunnels with only the noise of his and another mech's systems in his audials, Megatron found himself feeling nostalgic. It reminded him of the mines. He didn't think of that time in his life often any more. Vast ages of time separated him from the mech he had been then, layers and layers of experience burying it deep within his memory cores. The details were already starting to degrade. Memory creep, that curse of their long-lived species.

It was pleasant though, somehow, and perhaps more so for having Minimus here with him. Their plating brushed frequently, and whenever they had to put servos on each other for support he felt the heat building up underneath his armour, his fans straining to start spinning up. Megatron cancelled the prompts whenever they flashed up. Now was hardly the time, and he doubted that the prospect of imminent violence that hung over them was enhancing the mood for Minimus as it was for him.

By the time the two of them had gotten into position in the maintenance tunnels above the hanger, the shuttle had already arrived. Megatron unspooled an interface cable to hook into a diagnostics panel, which would also allow him to access the monitoring apparatus for the bay. Minimus hooked in next to him, the presence of another processor joining him in the _Lost Light's_ inert systems. It wasn't a direct connection and there were heavy buffers of firewalls separating them in both directions, so there was no measure by which this could actually be called erotic. Systems primed by their climb through the vents however, Megatron could not help but find it so.

He made sure it did not show. Yes, perhaps on occasion since joining the _Lost Light_ he had been... aware of an attraction towards Magnus. Yet given the history between them he held no great hope of having that attraction returned, or of the possibility of a relationship even if it was. He did not wish to distract Minimus right now with the burden of knowing about his... crush.

He turned his attention back to the security feed. It seemed their enemy had packed the soldiers into the shuttle as tight as possible, judging by the numbers of them swarming around now like Insecticons. Perhaps they were not entirely foolish then; they were aware that if they really wanted to take this vessel it would be on a tide of energon. He knew he was smiling, but he kept the fierce pleasure of violence tucked away behind his firewalls. Several squadrons of troops were leaving the hanger and spreading out into the surrounding corridors. He nudged Minimus lightly.

"It should be possible to isolate each group and pick them off," he said, very quietly. "They are bound to fight back, but perhaps there will be room for your mercy if they make that possible."

"Thank you Megatron," Minimus replied, equally softly. Megatron ignored the shiver that sent up his backstrut. Frag it. He had more self control than this.

They disengaged from the terminal and began to head back towards the bridge. Minimus could don his armour again, and they could use the security terminal to locate Whirl and co-ordinate their assault. Calculating lines of attack, Megatron was paying less attention to his surroundings than usual. Perhaps that was why he failed to notice the vibrations of another frame moving through the vent system until he wriggled around a corner and nearly slammed helm-first into Rung.

Megatron jerked backwards, optics cycling and resetting. It was not just the shock of the mech's sudden appearance, but also surprise at himself. He had forgotten that Rung was on board. Now it didn't seem possible that he could have done so. There were less than a dozen of them even in this reality! How could someone slip out of his processor like that?

Now that he got a second look at the mech, Rung was not looking well. His optics were dulled and his paint seemed to be flaking slightly - a sign of a compromised chromatonanite colony.

"Oh, Captain," Rung said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm glad to see you. We seem to have been boarded; do you know why?"

"Is that Rung?" Minimus asked from behind Megatron. He wondered if he had been afflicted by this same odd lapse in memory.

"It is," Megatron replied, turning his helm just enough to project his voice without making enough noise to carry through the vents and attract attention. "Rung. Good to see you as well. These soldiers have been sent by the local Functionalists, I believe."

Rung clicked his vocaliser in concern. "I heard the pede-steps outside my office," he said. "When I put my helm out they pointed weapons at me and told me to surrender. I managed to get back inside before they could shoot and... well, one of the other times there was a danger on board the ship Skids and I escaped through the vent system. It seemed as good an idea as any."

"Have you been in your office since we arrived in this reality?" Megatron asked, frowning.

It was hard to tell precisely where Rung was looking behind those glasses of his, but he seemed to be avoiding Megatron's optics. "Yes... I'm afraid I haven't been very well. I didn't want to trouble anyone; I know how hard everyone is working to get us back home."

There was a mystery here, Megatron could sense it, but there was no time. "Follow us," he said. "We are dealing with the problem."

\----

Whirl had been occupying himself in Swerve's empty bar, chugging down engex cocktails he had mixed himself, peeling needles of titanium out of the metal of the tables and throwing them at a vague doodle of Megatron's head he'd daubed onto one of the walls. The slivers were not particularly aerodynamic, but he thought he'd compensated for that pretty well. He was particularly proud of the one that'd hit the picture right in the centre of its optic.

He was a bit surprised therefore when the bar door hissed open and a group of minibots started filing into the room. Whirl perked up from where he had been sprawled out on the main bar-top itself, engines revving with interest. Now who were these adorable little schmucks, and where had they been hiding from him?

Multiple sets of optics widened as he got to his pedes and straightened up to his full height in front of them. They all suddenly looked a lot less sure about things than they had when they'd wandered into the room.

"Uh, I... I don't suppose you'd be willing to come quietly?" one of them said.

Whirl cocked his helm. Oh, wait, they were pointing guns at him. His tactical systems hadn't even registered them as threats, so he hadn't noticed until now. "Why?"

The minibot's engines stalled out a moment in fear. "Uh. We have your friends? If you don't want us to hurt them, you'll come with us."

Whirl's optic narrowed. Now what was this? Some little bot thought he could threaten _him_? Threaten his friends - even if it was true, and where was the proof? He spun up his cannons. Frag this. He could find out what was going on here from whichever one he chose to leave alive.

The one disadvantage of the chest guns were that they did take a few astroseconds to warm up, which was enough warning for the minibots to start firing. He winced as their shots lanced into his armour, ablating it in places. Nothing serious though, nothing that would compromise his combat efficiency. If he had still had a mouth, he would've grinned. "My turn," he said, and opened fire.

Energon splashed in all directions. Heavy-duty rounds designed to pierce war-grade armour cut through these poor little soft-shelled sparks as easily as punching a straw through a cube-field. Screams filled his audials as Whirl leapt closer, claws lancing out to tear bots apart. He barely had to put any strength into it as metal crumpled in shrieking agonies. They were still firing at him, firing through their own comrades sometimes. It was starting to get annoying.

Before long most of the minibots were dead. Whirl stood in the centre of the bar, holding the last living one up in mid-air, claws tight around her intake. She struggled weakly, but with several limbs missing, she wasn't going to be going anywhere. Washed and splattered in energon - a little of his own, but mostly theirs - drying tacky on his plating, Whirl kept his engine rumbling in a constant, low-level threat. He pulled his captive closer.

"Now," he said. "What did you say about my friends?"

\----

Safely nestled back inside the Magnus armour, Minimus felt able to relax again despite the danger which still had to be dealt with. Every moment in the vent system alongside Megatron had been a struggle not to allow his fans to come online. At first he had thought it was merely the tight space making heat diffusion more difficult, but as physical contact with the other mech had continued to occur he had no longer been able to hide the truth from himself. It was the presence of Megatron himself that was making little tingles of charge build up in his systems.

He was ashamed of himself. This was Megatron. The crimes he had committed over the course of his functioning were too vast, the pain and suffering he was responsible for too significant... Ultra Magnus was an Autobot, and a mech devoted to the rule of law. He could not be having feelings of this nature towards someone like Megatron.

And yet. There they were. In the months since his new Captain had come on board, Megatron had stopped being the half-myth that shadowed the other side of the battlefield, and had become a person instead. Magnus had found him to be diligent, steadfast, patient, organised, polite, at times stubborn but not to excess... his list of positive qualities could go on. Working with him been a relief when compared to his expectations, and even in some ways when compared to working with Rodimus.

Magnus had never been comfortable around 'grey areas'. Things were right, or they were wrong. They were legal, or they were not. To find a mech who was so personally pleasant and even _attractive_ , but who was capable of such darkness... it sent his processor spinning. He simply did not know how to deal with it.

He did his best to put such thoughts out of his processor. They had other problems right now.

The Senate's soldiers had spread out through the ship, but he and Megatron had noted their locations and possible destinations via the ship's security systems. They were too late to save the ones who had run into Whirl, but he hoped the squadrons he and Megatron encountered were willing to surrender when it became clear to them that they were outmatched. What had the Senate been thinking? Were they not aware from their own war how powerful warframed mechs were? Why were their Special Forces not better equipped?

If this was the general quality of the Autobot soldiers here, how had they even survived the war with the Decepticons? That question nagged at him as he made his way cautiously through the corridors at Megatron's side.

They came upon the first squad suddenly, but Magnus and Megatron had been expecting to find them here and their enemies certainly had not. Small arms fire pattered off his plating as he swung in, knocking weapons from servos and disabling limbs with powerful blows. He risked a quick glance at Megatron who had drawn one of his small pistols and was wielding it as though it was hard-wired into his systems. Twirling it in his servo he fired behind him without even looking, hitting something important and sending a mech stumbling backwards with a cry of pain.

He looked away again, refusing to acknowledge the stir of warmth in his systems. He had always admired displays of a high level of competence, and Megatron was certainly that.

Less than a breem later they were surrounded by groaning bodies, some in stasis, some conscious, an uncomfortable few offline. Some by Magnus' own servo, he thought with a churn in his fuel-tank. They were so delicate compared to the bots he was used to fighting - it had taken him too long to recalibrate the strength behind his blows.

"We should have time for questions," Megatron said, "although we must make sure that the ship is secure before transferring our prisoners to the brig."

"Some may require the medbay."

Megatron looked at him with cool optics. "A pity we have no medic then. Perhaps they thought to bring one with them." There did not seem to be any bots with medic markings among the wounded. Magnus fought down the stirrings of uneasy guilt. It had been too easy to hurt them - but if he had not they would have taken the two of them prisoner and... what? What exactly did the Autobot Senate here want?

Megatron crouched next to one of the mechs sprawled against the wall. He was clutching at his upper arm where it bore the unmistakable crumpled marks of massive digits, and fighting the pain with gritted dentae. "Do you know who we are?" he asked the injured soldier.

"Decepticons," the mech replied, optics narrowed in anger, fear, and agony.

Megatron tapped the Autobrand on his chest lightly. "Does this look like the Decepticon brand to you?" The soldier met his optics and said nothing. Megatron vented out. "Do you have a designation?"

"Powerflash. But I won't tell you anything..."

"Hmm. Did your superiors happen to tell you _our_ designations?"

Powerflash shook his helm. The name was familiar. His alternate was a member of the Security team on the _Lost Light_. Magnus wondered if that was significant. Powerflash’s injured arm was throwing a few sparks, a sure sign that it was damaged past reasonable repair. He would need a replacement.

"It appears they did not tell you very much at all," Megatron said.

"What do any of us need to know?" Powerflash said. "Other than that you're Decepticreeps and you're pretending like you're not for evil reasons. We've learned our lesson there! Your plan was never going to work."

Megatron stood up. "They don't appear to value the lives of their soldiers very highly," he said to Magnus. "Certainly not enough to give them accurate information."

"Propaganda, just like the museum tour," Magnus said in agreement, referring to what Tailgate had reported of the first trip to Iacon.

"It is unlikely they will know anything about the location of the rest of the crew," Megatron said. "Perhaps there will be an officer in one of the other groups who can be of more help."

As they left, Magnus gave Powerflash a sympathetic look. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll come back and make sure you and your comrades get the appropriate medical attention."

"Frag off, Cons," Powerflash replied. About the kind of response he was expecting. These poor bots had been sent here to die for the cause, whatever that cause was. Anger at the people who would do this flared in his spark. His servo had been forced. Once they had rescued Rodimus and the others, those responsible would face the full force of justice.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor's experiments begin, but help is coming. Not soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of clarity re the tags, I feel I should say there will only ever be _implied_ rape depicted in this fic, not explicitly the act itself. There will probably be consensual sex shown at some point.
> 
> A few more chapters before things start to get brighter again, but we will get there folks.

Perceptor came online to a white ceiling and bright lights hanging overhead. He reset his optics several times, adjusting the focus and zoom of his vision, but there were no changes. He felt... heavy. Leaden. Tired in an artificial way. He had required the services of a medbay often enough over the vorns to recognise the experience of coming out of sedation, but why...

His processor looped lines of code in a half-sparked way before the ping to his memory core actually caught and went through. As the recent past flooded in he stiffened and then found that he was unable to move more than a few microns. He was bound to something, lying on his back. That could not mean anything good. He thought back... what was the last thing he had encoded?

His alternate had set soldiers on them. Threatened Rewind and Tailgate. _Shot_ Tailgate when Cyclonus fought back in defence of his _conjunx_. They had been separated from the minibots, led through the building and out onto some kind of transport. There had been movement. They had been taken... somewhere. He had no knowledge of the geography of this version of Cybertron. They could be in any city on the planet that was within a few cycles travel time.

They had each been shoved into separate cells when they had arrived, the walls in between windowless but not thick enough to prevent them hearing each other if they shouted. Energy fields had penned them in; something Perceptor might have been able to work around if he had been given enough time. Time had been in short supply. It had been, what, a few cycles more before the guards had come again? The stasis cuffs around his wrists had flared...

The charge from them must have been enough to knock him into stasis proper for long enough to get him out and administer the sedatives. Perceptor tried to relax in his bonds. There was little point in fighting them. His alternate wasn't foolish enough to put him in restraints he could break out of.

Speaking of his alternate, where was that monster?

"The subject has come back online," that Pit-damned flat, emotionless voice said, not very far away at all. Perceptor twisted his helm towards it to look and realised from the sudden odd sensation of air across internals that were _not_ meant to be exposed that some of his helm plating had been removed. He went very still. There was something hanging out of the medical port at the back of his neck.

He couldn't _feel_ the sensation of foreign code or programming, no alien presence, but that didn't mean much. Viruses could hide.

"As expected for a warframe, the subject had strong firewalls," his alternate continued. He seemed to be dictating findings. Was there anyone else in the lab? Impossible to tell. He didn't dare move again to look. "Comparison to my own coding however allowed infiltration to progress at a more rapid pace."

"What have you done to me?" Perceptor said. He had intended his tone to sound demanding. He hadn't quite managed.

Pedesteps against metal. The other Perceptor's faceplates appeared within his visual field. "Are you aware of a difference?" he asked. There was no tone of interest. There was no tone at all.

"I know you've done _something_ ," Perceptor said, gritting his dentae against the fear creeping along his backstrut. "Mnemosurgery, shadowplay, whatever you call it here."

"The subject appears familiar with the concept of altering behavioural coding," his alternate said, stepping back. "I will now release the subject for the first test."

Perceptor felt the tight bands around his limbs loosen and slip back down into the slab he was lying on. His first urge was to roll off the berth at speed and lunge for where he had heard that voice coming from, but caution caught him. If that was really going to be possible, his alternate would not have let him up.

"Get up please."

Well, he had been intending to do so anyway. Slowly Perceptor pushed himself upright, careful of whatever was still hanging, alien, from his medical port. There was a weight to it that suggested some kind of cable reaching down and back, but there was plenty of slack in it. It wasn't restricting his movement. Now he could get a better look at his surroundings. The laboratory he was in was large, with banks of computer consoles against the walls and multiple medical berths with restraints just like the one he had been strapped to.

His alternate was standing not far away, servos held behind his back, optics cool and assessing.

Perceptor slid off the berth onto his pedes, hydraulics and cables tensing beneath his plating. He couldn't see any guards around. That was highly suspect.

"What are you trying to achieve here?" he asked his alternate. His question was ignored.

"Remove the cable from your port. Then come over to stand in front of me," the other Perceptor said.

Perceptor grit his dentae but did as he was asked. Surely it was better to play along until he understood the rules of the game. His alternate nodded to himself, apparently pleased about _something._ His optics raked up and down the length of Perceptor's frame. Standing as close as this the difference in height was more pronounced, almost surreal. It was hard to believe that this small mech had the least bit to do with himself; he certainly wouldn't have guessed it if he had not already known.

"Kneel down," his alternate said, pointing at the floor. Unsure, Perceptor obeyed - well, what did it matter? If he wanted to he could kill the other mech as easily from that position as any other. Perhaps more easily, given that it brought his servos closer to that slender neck.

"Inflict harm upon yourself," his alternate commanded, and for the first time Perceptor balked.

"What?" he said, too surprised for any more intelligent comment. Why would the other Perceptor believe he would be amenable to do something like that...

"Command too vague for this point in coding," his alternate said to himself, tilting his helm curiously, then continued before Perceptor had a chance to think about the ramifications of his words; "Snap a digit."

Faced with something he absolutely did _not_ _want to do,_ something woke up in Perceptor's processor that until now had been humming along unnoticed and undetectable below the level of his conscious code chains. Feeling the foreign program flare into life Perceptor realised it had been there all along, ever since the moment he had come online. It had been so subtle he simply hadn't noticed it. Hadn't seen how passive it had made him.

He should have made an attempt to escape the moment he saw that he was alone in here with his alternate. He had not. The thought simply hadn't engaged, blocked by the virus, or whatever it was. Now his right servo fixed around the smallest digit on his left as though moving in a recharge flux, no matter how much he wanted to stop, to reach instead for the thin, delicate plating of the monster that stood here claiming his own name.

Pain flared as cables and wires pulled taught and gave way. Perceptor let out a yell as the digit came free in a small spurt of energon. Nothing self-repair systems wouldn't plug over, but it splattered wet and bright on the floor and onto his alternate's pedes all the same.

Perceptor vented hard, cycling air through his systems, cooling himself to numb the ache.

" _Why have you done this_?" he demanded. "We meant you no harm. There was no need..."

"You do not have permission to speak."

Perceptor found his jaw clenching shut of its own accord. He bit down, nearly hard enough to hear dentae creak. He wanted to hurt, to make his alternate suffer through a slow, slow death, but the urgency of it floated around in the back of his processor like idle whims, failing to translate into action.

"You are a resource," the other Perceptor said, still without the slightest trace of emotion. "You will help us adapt the obedience protocols to overcome the upgraded firewalls in the warframes of our own dimension. That is your primary function to me. If further functions are found after that goal is achieved, you will be kept for that use. If not you will be disposed of. Resisting this is futile."

Even if he had been able to speak pointing out the immorality of this would not have done any good. That went when the emotions went, apparently. Just like Shockwave. This wasn't even about seeing them as a threat, as he had expected. This Perceptor hadn't ordered them to be captured because he thought they were working with the Decepticons, or because he thought warframes were naturally violent and dangerous. No, he just saw a group of unwary mechs with no ties to anyone who mattered. Experimental subjects.

Perceptor would have been among the first to admit that the Autobots of their own reality were far from innocent. There were plenty of crimes that could be laid at their pedes. But even Prowl at his worst wouldn't have done something like this.

Probably.

"You will remain here," his alternate said. Helpless to do anything else, Perceptor watched as the other mech went over to one of the consoles and spoke into what must be the comms. "Fetch the next subject. The blue flyer."

He was talking about Brainstorm. Perceptor wanted to scream, to fight, but what he _wanted_ did no good. It had been hard enough for Brainstorm to see this alternate who looked so much like his dead love. How much worse was it going to be when he tried to do _this_ to him?

It wasn't as if he couldn't move at all, Perceptor thought. He just couldn't _get up_. He could shift for the sake of getting comfortable, could move his helm to look around, could pinch the leaking energon lines at the base of his missing digit to help his self-repair along... but he couldn't stand. Couldn't even shuffle on his knees off of this spot.

The alien coding was meshed deep. It took skill to get down to the unconscious processes, the autonomic functions - and it had to be interlocked with his programming at that level for it to have influenced him in that subtle way it had at the beginning. Was he - Perceptor - a mnemosurgeon in this dimension? Or had it been someone else who had designed and inserted this? He wasn't sure even Chromedome would have been able to do work this delicate, and he had spend millennia with the New Institute.

This wasn't new. It hadn't been designed just for them, it wasn't being tested for the _first time_ on them. What had his alternate implied... that they needed to experiment to get past the Decepticon's upgraded firewalls? Implying they had been able to do this sort of thing to them in the past.

Perceptor was starting to have a lot of sympathy for the Decepticons here.

\----

It had been almost a mega-cycle since the guards had taken Perceptor away, and Brainstorm hadn't managed to recharge in all that time. He couldn't. This felt like his fault. The more rational part of his processor could argue that it wasn't, that there was no way he could have known about what was going to happen, but it was hard to listen. It was just like all the other times. People he cared about dying.

No, no, let him admit it to himself. If he couldn't do it even in the privacy of his own processor... People he _loved_ dying.

Not that Percy was dead. Hah! No, of course not! That absolutely, definitely had not happened!

He had been pacing up and down the short length of his cell, but now he sat down on the berth and tucked his legs up to his chestplates. He would know if something really bad had happened to Percy, wouldn't he? One of the guards would have said something. Gloated, maybe? Besides, what would be the point of capturing them all to drag them off to be executed one by one? Nothing, that's what.

Brainstorm pressed the front of his helm against his knees. His wings were twitching again. He hadn't been built with Seeker coding, he didn't get the same urgent need to fly on a frequent basis that they did, but it was still uncomfortable to be cooped up in such a small place. Maybe it was knowing that he _couldn't_ get out of the cell even if he wanted to that did it. Some of the labs he had worked in over the years had been pretty cramped, but he hadn't feel so bad in _them_.

Pedesteps were echoing down the corridor. He lifted his helm to look. Rodimus' voice rang out, muffled enough by the walls between them that the exact words weren't clear. He knew what they would be though. Demands to know what was going on. Threats, maybe. The guards never answered him, and he shouted at them whenever the shift changed. Brainstorm was about to put his helm back down when the two guards stopped in front of his cell. One reached out and deactivated the energy shield.

Brainstorm got up, tensing for action.

"Don't," the same guard warned, holding up some sort of little remote. "Not unless you want us to drag you out of here in stasis." The control for the cuffs then. He was already planning on how to get hold of it.

"I'll be good," he said, holding his servos up. The cuffs made the movement awkward. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

How very helpful. Brainstorm approached cautiously, but they were clearly just as wary of him. For good reason, given their helms only came up to mid-chest on him. He thought about doing something, just for a moment, but even if they hadn't had the ability to shock him out cold he just wasn't good at face-to-face violence. The idea of thin plating crumpling under his fists made his fuel tank churn.

He was led out through empty white corridors with blank, unmarked doors set at intervals. Eventually they reached some particular one and went through - the guards had to simply know their way around, as there didn't seem to be any other way they could have known that it was the right one. The door opened into a large space, more white walls, but lined with consoles now, and...

Brainstorm's spark stuttered in its casing. Perceptor was here. Both Perceptors. The evil one was standing waiting for him just inside the room, but _his_ Percy was kneeling motionless on the floor further in. Brainstorm's keen, anxious optics picked out the bright splash of energon - not a lot, but _any_ was more than he wanted to see. Not just that, but half of his helm plating had been removed, with surgical exactness. Not a good sign.

Percy was alive though. That was the most important thing. He was alive.

"Bring the specimen over here," evil-Perceptor said to the guards, gesturing at a medical berth, one of several inside the lab.

Brainstorm hesitated, not wanting to go anywhere _near_ that, but the cuffs around his wrists gave a sharp buzz and charge rocketed through his systems. He grunted, actuators and hydraulics locking stiff. He lost his balance and fell forwards, clanging against the floor with a painful jolt. Not quite enough to knock him into stasis though.

"Up," the guard commanded, and kicked him in the side when he didn't respond. Slagger. He wasn't _able_ to respond. Still, his plating was reinforced, and it didn't hurt very much. The guard grumbled, then Brainstorm felt servos on him lifting him up, and he was dragged over to the berth-slab. They heaved and rolled him into place as his joints started to loosen up a little. He managed to turn his helm enough to look over towards Perceptor. He was still kneeling on the floor. It didn't look like he had moved at all.

Something was _really_ wrong. It wasn't because of the stasis cuffs. Percy wasn't wearing them anymore. He held his servos cupped in front of him, holding something... There was a splash of energon on one of his servos... Frag. He couldn't make out anything more.

The alternate Perceptor came over as the guards started activating restraints, strapping him down on the berth. Brainstorm tried to suppress the shiver that ran through his plating. He couldn't stop seeing Quark in this mech - but not _his_ Quark. A Quark who hated him, or no... not hate because this bot didn't feel hate, didn't feel _anything_. A Quark who didn't care if he lived or died. A Quark who would do anything he wanted to him, just to see what would happen.

It made him want to scream, but if he started then everything that had happened in the course of the last four million years would just come pouring out of him and he would never stop.

It wasn't as if the truth was any better. He didn't want to see Percy in this warped mirror either.

"The second test will now begin," the monster said, and Brainstorm felt the tips of some kind of tools against the back of his helm. Digging in, prying up plating. It hurt, hurt enough to make him try and jerk away, but something zapped him again and froze him up.

As the pain continued, he felt his optics start to flare, drifts of charged plasma starting to escape. It was so much worse not being able to move. He thought he might be able to endure pain if only he could _move_... Lost in the haze of it all, he barely felt the brush of something else against his exposed processor and against the medical port further down his neck.

Something was inside his systems. Brainstorm felt it rasping against his firewalls, trying to get through. It was trying some version of medical over-rides, but his system knew an intruder when it felt it, and wasn't fooled. Still, he could feel the viral wyrm or... whatever it was... nosing around. Testing for weakness.

He didn't think it was going to get through any time soon anyway. Of all mechs Autobot or Decepticon, scientists were given some of the best firewalls either side had to offer. There were too many secrets in their helms for a little hacking to be able to pry them out.

Still. Percy. Unmoving. Exposed.

His processor could not refuse to draw the conclusion for any longer. They had gotten into Perceptor's systems. Done something to him. Something that had to be horrible.

Percy had only been gone for a mega-cycle. Not that long at all. Somehow they had gotten in in such a short time. How long did he really think it was going to be before they did the same to him?

\----

Tailgate did try to fight when they dragged him away. It was just that he was too injured to be very effective. In the end though the soldiers didn't take them far. It seemed to be just another part of one of the government buildings in Iacon. As they walked someone slapped a field patch over the hole in Tailgate's shoulder, stemming the ongoing stream of energon at least. It had something in it that interfaced with his neural net in the area, spreading a slight numbness through the wound. It was a relief, so he wasn't about to complain about _that_.

There was plenty else to complain about! Tailgate looked over at Rewind, who was walking half-dazed. The stasis cuffs they had put him in were glowing slightly. Neither of them were in much of a state to try and escape, but he wasn't about to just sit and let this happen!

Or well. He told himself that, but all the grand ideas for getting away in his mind didn't seem very practical right now.

He'd thought they were going to be thrown into a cell or something, but instead the guards took them to someplace that looked more like an office. There was a mech waiting for them, shorter than either of them, plating mostly red with a little grey. He had been sitting behind his desk but he jumped to his pedes when the two of them were brought inside.

"Did everything go as planned?" he asked.

"Sort of sir," one of the femmes holding Tailgate said. "There were... more injuries than we had anticipated. No fatalities as far as I know, but it's possible some folk won't make it." She was angry - okay, he understood why.

"Maybe you shoulda thought of that..." Rewind said, and trailed off. He sounded woozy.

"Why are you doing this?" Tailgate said. He had meant to sound demanding, but it came out as more of a wail. He just didn't understand! Things had been going well! They had been making friends - or at least that's what he had thought!

"I know it must be hard..." the red mech said, before frowning as he noticed something. "Are you hurt?"

Tailgate looked at him astonished. "Of course I'm hurt! You guys _shot_ me."

"A warning shot," one of the other soldiers added quickly. "The purple warframe had just cut Scattershot's arms off!"

"His _name_ is _Cyclonus_ ," Tailgate said. "And Scattershot was holding a gun to my helm!"

The red mech held up a servo. "Never mind all that. Do you need medical attention?"

"All I need is to know why you decided to threaten us and take our friends captive!"

"I know you _think_ they're you're friends, but you don't have to live like that anymore. Things can be different now. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Tailgate had no idea what this mech was talking about.

"My name is Cliffjumper," the red mech continued. "I'm the Prime in charge of Autobot Intelligence. We've taken the warframes into custody to prevent them threatening you, or anyone else smaller than they are. I understand that one of them was your _conjunx_...?" He turned to Rewind.

"Slag you," Rewind said.

"I can only imagine what you've been through," Cliffjumper said. He spoke gently, like what he was saying was meant to be calming rather than simply confusing. "I hope you'll come to see that a _conjunx_ relationship doesn't have to be like that."

Rewind's engine growled. "Domey and I... our relationship is really none of your business," he said.

"The place you come from... I know that submitting to that must have seemed like the only option to you..."

"I _love_ him, you _useless piece of scrap_." Tailgate winced. The glyph Rewind had used was a lot stronger than the literal meaning made it sound. Cliffjumper vented out.

"No, it's too soon for you to understand what I'm talking about, isn't it," he said, mostly to himself. "The Elite Guard will take you two to your new rooms. You aren't exactly prisoners, but... you can't leave this building either. We'll make sure you can find your way around. Please, take the time to heal, to come to terms with the fact that you don't have to go back to that world."

He gestured to the soldiers, who nodded and fastened their servos around Tailgate's shoulders again. He was made to leave the office still with no real idea exactly what any of that had been about.

All he knew was that there seemed to have been a _massive_ misunderstanding here somewhere.

\----

It didn't take long for Megatron, Magnus and Whirl to clear the _Lost Light_ of its Elite Guard infestation. Once the last of the prisoners had been confined to the now packed brig, the three of them rendezvoused with Rung in the hanger bay. The away-team's shuttle was waiting for them, empty of the locals. There had not been any time to clean up, and Megatron was keenly aware of the energon drying on his plating. He would not usually have been concerned about it. Perhaps it was related to the mandatory sessions with Rung early on in his time onboard this ship, but he was embarrassed to be seen like this in front of the psychiatrist.

If he was splattered with it, Whirl was worse, almost drenched in energon. The heat of his plating had cooked it into a familiar ozone stink that brought Megatron's processor back to battlefields past. No specific memory files loaded in response to it; he had scented it far too often for it to have coded to one or two specifically, but it was nostalgic all the same. Whirl had done well in moderating his violent impulses once they had managed to find him and talk to him regarding the boarding action. From his mutterings however, his uncharacteristic obedience had nothing of mercy about it. He merely wanted his revenge to be protracted.

Megatron understood the urge. In this case however, he could not simply unleash that base instinct. The fault and the blame was not solely with the Autobots here. It was his as well. He had been warned what the Senate here was capable of, and by his own counterpart no less. He had known they were likely to act at some point. He had simply been arrogant enough to think he had control of the situation here.

He was not used to being unable to control events. Even in occasions of defeat in the past, he had still been able to influence the outcome to some extent. Even after Optimus had forced that humiliating statement of capitulation out of him, he had still given him Captaincy of the _Lost Light_. Megatron had not been trusted, but he had still been in control.

It had lead to overconfidence. It had lead to the present moment with the majority of the crew captive - not dead, he was fairly certain on that front. Not when the Senate and Council had access to as powerful a tool as slave coding.

Megatron looked over at Magnus. The other mech did not seem to have detected the guilt he was feeling. He had been as polite as ever, no sign of a change in his manner towards him. The same was true of Rung, although he might simply have been distracted by his own ill health. A mystery in itself, but not one Megatron could spare any attention towards at the moment.

Megatron vented out, trying to keep the noise of it quiet.  He had failed to tell the mechs under his command about the dangers that could be waiting for them. The reasons had been valid, but that did them no good now. Nor would apologies. He simply had to fix this.

"So what now?" Whirl asked, clicking his claws together. Scraps of wire and unidentifiable internals still clung to them. "We head down planetside and teach them a lesson about disrespecting us?"

"Not quite," Megatron replied.

"Worried about whatever _army_ they think they have?" Whirl asked, sarcasm thick. "I'm not. They're so pathetic, Magnus could clamber out of his armour and still take 'em on. I'm a little embarrassed to fight them, honestly."

"In that case I can save you some embarrassment," Megatron told him. Whirl became noticeably less perky.

"I never said I didn't _wanna_ fight. They've got our friends. We need to get to the killing. Can't let them think they've gotten away with this."

"We do not even know where they are being kept," Megatron said.

Ultra Magnus nodded. "I believe I see where you are going with this. Stealth protocols again?"

"Correct." It was a relief to have a second who was so swift to anticipate his plans. Soundwave had been like that too, always a stark contrast to Starscream's block-headed obstinacy. Hmm. He was making comparisons to his old life again. A sure sign he was allowing himself to feel melancholy.

"I can do stealth," Whirl insisted. "The Wreckers did stealth sometimes."

"I find that very hard to believe," Megatron said, looking towards Magnus for confirmation.

"It was not a... typical Wrecker tactic," Magnus said, looking uncomfortable. "Whirl, I think Megatron is right. Besides, if Megatron, Rung and I are heading down to Cybertron, someone will have to stay behind to jump the _Lost Light_ to a safer location. We can't have the locals capturing the ship after all this."

Whirl's optic narrowed. "You're taking the nerd, but _I_ have to stay in the naughty corner?"

"Rung will fit in with the native population," Megatron said. " _You_ will not."

Whirl's engine span up, throttled down, and revved once again. It was clear he was attempting to come up with a good reason he should be allowed to accompany them, but could not. Finally he slammed one set of claws into a wall in frustration, and subsided slightly.

"Fine," he said. "I stay with the ship. What do you want me to do with it anyhow?"

Magnus looked thoughtful. "Aside from the continued presence of Luna-1, the Hadeen system is the same here as it is at home. The primary objective must be moving the _Lost Light_ to a place where it will not be at risk of being fired upon by warships, but is still in communications range so that when we have rescued Rodimus and the others, you can jump back and pick us up."

"Possibly while firing missiles in all directions?" Whirl asked hopefully.

Megatron and Magnus both vented out at the exact same time. "Only if the situation calls for it," Megatron said. "Rung, are you satisfied with this plan?"

Rung startled slightly, and adjusted his spectacles. "Of course I wish to help rescue our friends. I'm simply not sure how much help I will be. My only experience with stealth is being generally unmemorable."

"We do not intend to ask you to do anything outside of your abilities," Megatron told him. "Whirl, do you understand how to program a jump into the navigation console?"

"Eh, I can manage."

Magnus frowned. "I shall leave instructions. It will not to any good to have you jump into the star, or some other planetary body."

"Is that... likely to happen?"

Megatron left Magnus to walk Whirl through what he would need to do. He had to check the shuttle for any kind of tampering before they left. Landing without attracting attention would be hard enough as it was without also having to deal with a tracking device.

Time was limited. He had to make sure things were under his control once again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaffection, infiltration and introspection. No-one is satisfied here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Implied non-con in the section from Jetfire's POV.

"I never expected officer training to be this exhausting," Bumblebee said, draping himself over the couch. Bulkhead sat down next to him and patted his shoulder sympathetically. He felt as exhausted as Bee looked. If it had just been physical stuff he wouldn't have minded so much. His endurance was pretty good, and they got a really good allowance of energon now they were gonna be officers. All these written tests were the pits though. They expected him to know all kinds of stuff that just didn't seem that relevant. If it wasn't to do with spacebridge engineering, he wasn't interested.

"I know how you feel buddy," he said. "Training was hard enough the last time. Tell the truth I had second thoughts 'bout agreeing to do this."

"Why _did_ you agree then?" Bee asked, onlining his optics so he could look at his friend. "We're 'heroes of Cybertron'. I bet you could have got them to offer you something else."

"I wasn't gonna let you go through this on your own," Bulkhead protested. "Friends stick together." Besides which, he had this weird suspicion that no actually, he wouldn't have been able to ask to do just anything, hero or no hero. Things hadn't felt right since they had come back home. Officer training kept them so busy he never got any free time to go visit Ratchet, Arcee and Omega Supreme, and apparently they weren't allowed to come to them. He hadn't even seen Optimus, and he was only over in Iacon Towers. Jazz had come by a couple of times to chat, but when Bulkhead had asked about Optimus he had looked uneasy and said he was up to his optics in meetings.

What kind of meetings? Schmoozing with the Senate. Yeah, cos that was the kind of life Optimus had always wanted, right?

Bulkhead wasn't stupid. It wasn't a coincidence that they had all been split up like this. Someone didn't want them to be together anymore. He wondered if it was all because he had talked to Megatron. Jazz had known about that; he mighta reported it to Intelligence. The Council might have gotten the idea that they were a bunch of subversives or something.

Which... was maybe kind of true. Bulkhead hadn't been able to stop thinking about the 'hidden' history of the war since they'd gotten back, since Megatron, Shockwave and Lugnut had been dragged off to prison. What was gonna happen to them? The newsfeeds hadn't said, and all the reporters were divided about what the best thing would be. They were talking about it up in the Senate, but it was closed session. No cameras, no media.

He shivered, plating clattering slightly. Were they deciding about messing with their heads? Putting that slave coding Megatron had been so worried about back in?

"You're thinking again," Bumblebee said, nudging him in the side. "What's got you buzzing?"

"Nothing really," Bulkhead lied. "Just missing everyone."

"Yeah. I miss Earth. I miss Sari, and Doc Sumdac, and all those other little humans running around." Bee was silent for a long moment, then said more quietly, "I miss Prowl."

The reminder made Bulkhead feel his absence with a sudden ache in his spark. "So do I."

"Megatron'll get what's coming to him though," Bumblebee said, like he was trying to cheer himself up. Didn't really make Bulkhead feel cheerful. "C'mon, we get little enough free time as it is without spending it being sad all over each other. Where's the remote? They're showing a race meet live from Velocitron. That'll take our processors off things!"

Bulkhead fished out the controller and handed it over. He didn't think he would be able to concentrate on anything anyway, so he was happy to give Bee the choice of program. He felt like he had to do something, but he didn't know what.

He wondered how the bots from the other reality were getting on.

\----

Once Megatron had diverted the shuttle from its expected flight path, it hadn't taken long for it to become apparent to whomever controlled the orbital defences that something had gone wrong with their attempt to board the _Lost Light_. His piloting skills had been tested dodging the subsequent attempts to shoot them down, but once they were near enough to Iacon that had stopped for fear of hitting the city itself. It had been possible to bring the shuttle in for a quick landing and lose themselves in the streets before a response force could reach their location.

Magnus had left the armour on the _Lost Light_. He was Minimus again, just as Megatron had gone back to shifting his mass downwards. He would have to hold this for an uncomfortable length of time; something he had never tested before. It should be possible. There had been a point during the war when he had been trapped in gun alt for deci-vorns and that had done him no lasting damage. This should be fine.

Iacon itself was a sight to behold. At home Cybertron's rebirth had erased even the ruins of cities like this. The settlement Starscream ruled over had nothing to compare. This was a forgotten dream, a world that had passed into memory before memory itself was scarred and wracked by time. Four million years. On other planets organic species rose and fell in such a span of eons. Only near-immortal races like their own could even conceive of a war that lasted so long and destroyed so much.  This... this was Cybertron as it once had been, shining towers above and dirty streets below.

He had brought the shuttle down in an area that looked near abandoned. The buildings were empty warehouses with doors sealed shut and glitch-mice chittering over the floors behind broken windows. There was graffiti everywhere and Megatron kept catching himself expecting to see his own words painted as slogans around the Decepticon brand, as it had been so long ago.

"We should find our way into the city proper," Minimus said next to him. Of the three of them Megatron was the only one who even barely looked as though he belonged in a place like this. Their plating was too shiny, their frames too well fed. In truth the lack of empties, addicts and siphonists was another thing that was distracting him. In his experience, bots of that kind always made districts like this their home.

"Agreed." Megatron's audials, dialed up to their highest sensitivities, could hear the sound of engines in the distance. It was generally the distant hum of city noise, but a portion of it seemed to be heading towards their current location.

"I didn't see anything I recognise on the way down," Rung said. "I assume our knowledge of our own Iacon is not going to serve us particularly well here."

"We can lose ourselves in a crowd once we find a busier area," Megatron said. "After that we can find our bearings. I hardly imagine they will have broadcast Rodimus' capture across the news-feeds, but perhaps there will be something that might indicate a location they may be being held."

The others nodded their agreement. Megatron slipped down a side-alley, seeing that it appeared to lead to newer, less dilapidated looking buildings. There was a wire fence at the other end, but that was easily dealt with. They filed one by one through the new hole he had torn, and towards the sound of traffic not far away.

After a few more streets there were signs of life. Buildings had active lights, small businesses were open, other bots walked or drove in alt at the sedate pace of those going about their life with no greater worries than the small trifles of work and the next cube of energon. The three of them garnered a few sideways glances, but nothing about them seemed so out of place as to get more than that.

"It seems so... ordinary," Rung said. "I had almost forgotten what that was like."

Megatron paid less attention to the civilians and more to their surroundings. As they walked, keeping their pace to that of the general traffic, he noticed things that started to trouble him. Although the three of them were not the only group of bots on the street, none of those groups were standing around engaged in conversation as one might expect from meetings of friends. The pace of the average walk was a little faster than was comfortable at their size. Certain businesses appeared to have been shut down, with barriers bolted into place over the doors. The most recent one they had passed had been a bar, with a holosign posted on the front window. 'Closed by general security order'.

That did not bode well.

"Where to now?" Minimus asked him in a low voice. "Would it be wise to ask for directions?"

Megatron considered this. "There seemed to be steady civilian traffic on and off world, as far as we could observe from our position in orbit. It would not stretch credulity to pose as newcomers from one of the colony worlds."

Minimus nodded. There was a mech who had stopped nearby to look in through the windows of one of the shops. He didn't look up as they approached, but startled upright when Megatron cleared his intake.

"Oh, yes? Can I help you?" the stranger asked.

"Would you be able to offer us some assistance?" Minimus asked. "We are new to Iacon, and I admit we haven't quite worked out how to navigate our way around just yet."

"Where are you trying to get to?"

"I was actually curious how you come by news here," Minimus continued. "It was a long trip, and we're a little behind on what has been happening of late."

"You don't have accommodation yet?" the mech asked. "There's usually a media viewer in most rooms..." He trailed off, seeing some look about their faceplates that answered his question for him. "I suppose if you really can't wait, there are some big screens in a few of the plazas near Iacon Towers." He pointed. "The Towers are the tallest buildings around in that direction. Just keep following the streets that way and you can't miss it."

Minimus thanked the bot. Once they were far enough away he lowered his helm towards Megatron's and said, "That is where Rodimus was meeting with the representatives of the Council."

Megatron rumbled his engines, a warm sound of consideration. "Even if they imagine we would make a move on their government building immediately, I doubt they will be looking for mechs that look like the three of us."

"True," Minimus said. "You are the only one who still bears any resemblance to your usual appearance. It should be safe enough." Walking so close to him like this was... pleasing. Megatron did his best to keep his mind on track.

The streets grew more crowded as they made their way closer to the centre of Iacon. Bots nodded and smiled as they passed in a friendly manner, and Megatron did his best to return the greetings. He noted that he was not the only mech heavier and bulkier in frame. There were certainly a few bots about built along the lines of Bulkhead, although their plating was still civilian-thin and they had no form of integrated weaponry that he could see.

It was obvious when they had come to a plaza of the kind the stranger had been talking about. The holo-screen in the centre of it was massive, suspended far above the ground so it could be seen well by anyone in the area. A vaguely familiar voice boomed out from integrated speakers, broadcasting a message warning the citizens of Cybertron to be wary of Decepticon spies. The wording was clearly designed to heighten paranoia and turn honest mechs against one another. Megatron had to suppress his disgust for fear it would be too obvious.

"I, Sentinel Magnus, approve this message," the vid ended, and Megatron clenched his servos harder.

"We did know he was in charge here," Minimus told him, noticing his anger.

"Clearly he is no better than in our world," Megatron replied.

Rung was looking up at the holoscreen. "If the wariness they are trying to create is prevalent it may become problematic for us," he said.

He was right. It only highlighted how careful they would have to be. The announcement had finished however, and the holoscreen had moved on to something that was more relevant for them. A reporter of some kind had appeared on the screen. Megatron paid careful attention to the new items as she reeled through them. The alternate Megatron's fate was still being discussed in the Senate. Decepticons had been testing the Autobot army along the borders of the Empire, albeit in a much more disorganised way than previously. The 'Heroes of Cybertron' were fighting for everyone's safety as part of the Elite Guard... that was interesting. They had stills of Optimus, Bulkhead and Bumblebee, but none of Ratchet, Omega Supreme, Jazz or Arcee. Now why had they been left out?

The reporter finished, and the screen looped back to more propaganda. There had been nothing about the _Lost Light_. Nothing about Rodimus, and nothing about the three of them. It appeared the Senate wanted to keep their presence quiet at least for now. Yes, strange warframes on Cybertron wearing Autobot brands _would_ raise questions they might not be so keen to answer, now wouldn't it.

"What now?" Minimus asked. "I don't feel we have much more to go on than we did at the start."

"There is one thing," Megatron replied. "We know where Bulkhead and Bumblebee are. A little local knowledge might be important right now."

\----

"Optimus, how's it hanging?" Sentinel plastered a wide, fake smile on his faceplates as he entered his old 'friend's' quarters. The other bot looked up from the datapad he'd been scrolling idly though, looking surprised and then pleased.

"Sentinel. I was hoping you'd come by," he said, standing up. "I tried to leave the building yesterday to visit my friends and the guard on the door wouldn't let me out."

Sentinel suppressed an exasperated vent of air. He was getting tired of dealing with Optimus. If you asked him they should have sent the slagger back to Earth since he liked the dirt-ball so much, but apparently even being the Magnus didn't get you listened to all the time. He supposed it was useful having Optimus where you could see him. Look at all the trouble he had managed to cause when no one was looking! "Added security I'm afraid," he said. "The Cons have been restless."

"Wanting to know what's going to happen to their leader no doubt," Optimus said. There was a bit of a cold edge to his tone that threw Sentinel off. Optimus was usually all smiles and friendliness - he assumed it was fake a lot of the time but Optimus was usually better at hiding that. "I'm wondering too."

"Still being discussed," Sentinel said. It was even mostly true. Information on Perceptor's work had been circulated to those senators who could be trusted with it. It was just a debate now on whether they were going to use the coding on all the captives including Megatron, or to execute him anyway. "Maybe you should come down to the Senate some time. Allspark knows you've been introduced to enough Senators by now that you could pull an invite if you really wanted one."

"I'm not so sure I would want to pay the price for that invite," Optimus said.

"Suit yourself," Sentinel said, shrugging, "but then you've only got yourself to blame if you feel out of the loop."

"Why are you here Sentinel?" Optimus asked. Sentinel considered pointing out that he ought to be addressing him as Magnus, but that hadn't worked yet. He was used to the disrespect. He intended to make Optimus pay for it, eventually. As to the question itself this whole thing was just a waiting game. Keeping their newest 'hero' close enough to make sure he didn't cause trouble until they could find some convenient way of getting rid of him - surely by now it was clear to Trion and the Senate that Optimus wasn't the kind of bot to obey and fall into line.

Perhaps when the Decepticons got off their afts and tried something Optimus would find his way into playing the hero again. Falling in glorious battle seemed an appropriate way for him to rejoin the Allspark.

"Can't a mech check in on an old friend now and then..." Sentinel started to reply. He was cut off by an Elite Guard soldier knocking at a fairly urgent pace on the door behind him. He turned angrily to see what they wanted.

"Magnus, I was told I could find you here," the soldier said. "Important update. A shuttle came down in an old manufacturing district - we believe several warframes are on board."

Sentinel's optics narrowed. A shuttle? Such as from that warship currently parked over their helms in far orbit? It sounded like things were not going to plan and obviously as Magnus he would simply have to take on the task of fixing it.

"Decepticons? Here on Cybertron?" Optimus looked between him and the guard. "Sentinel, let me come and help."

Sentinel tried to not to let his sudden suspicion show. So Optimus wanted to tag along did he? Wanted to see his new warframe pals and continue whatever he was plotting with them? "There's no need for that," he said. "The Elite Guard and I will have this under control soon enough."

"I'm sure you will," Optimus said. "However I'm sick of being stuck in here doing nothing. I've had enough of it. If I'm reinstated as a Prime as you've told me I am, then I have a duty to help defend our people."

The Guardsmech was looking up at him all bright-opticed, inspired by his _hero_ . If Sentinel refused _now_ he was going to have to give a good reason why - a reason he couldn't admit to.  "Fine," he said. "Follow me."

\----

Jetfire watched the clouds growing and billowing in the skies of Iacon from the window of the penthouse. Sir was meeting with Optimus Prime, and then the Council again, which meant he and his brother weren't to come along. The two of them had to stay up here. It wasn't the first time, and they should have felt frustrated by it, but it wasn't frustrating. It was a relief.

It hadn't always been this way. After the accident and the repairs, when he and Jetstorm had been assigned to Sentinel Prime it had been a great honour. They had been told this, and from the way those around them reacted it must be true. They only had that to go on - there were no real memories left encoded from their lives before. Ghost glitches sometimes, broken fractured images heavily degraded, but without context it was meaningless. All that mattered was the present, and they were eager to show that they were worthy of being saved from certain death.

They _were_ good soldiers. They were obedient, they followed instructions well. Sir told them so. There had been training, but not that much. Things came naturally. When the orders had been about fighting Decepticons and protecting their people that had been good. Satisfying. Obeying now... didn't feel good. Just one more thing that had changed.

Jetfire knew he shouldn't feel this way. It was their duty to do what Sir wanted, just as it was their duty to guard Sir wherever he went. They were meant to be protecting him, particularly since capturing Megatron and his officers guaranteed that the Decepticons were going to be looking for revenge. It wasn't safe for Sir to be alone. There would be other guards at the Council meeting, but what about walking between there and here? Shockwave had proven that it was possible to infiltrate an agent right into the heart of Iacon...

He was just listing off all the things he already knew. It didn't make him feel any differently when it seemed like his plating wanted to crawl off his frame, and he knew that Jetstorm agreed. Emotions filtered through the gestalt-link all the time, which was mostly comforting, but sometimes there were things that he wanted to hide.

They didn't know when Sir would be back. Jetfire could feel an itch under his plating, but he didn't know what was causing it. It was a strange feeling. He chased at it, but... it was something pent up. A need to go somewhere. Do something. It made him yearn towards those chasing, whirling clouds but... they weren't allowed. Flying was forbidden outside of training and fighting, and there hadn't been either of those for a while now.

"Sky is beautiful like this," Jetstorm said, coming over to join him by the window. Jetfire nodded. Hadeen's rays were lancing down like rays of molten gold, playing over the towers and buildings below. "Too beautiful to be feeling sad."

"What do you know?" Jetfire replied, opening a vent in his side to blow warm air out against his twin's plating.

Jetstorm tapped a digit against Jetfire's chestplates, just over his spark. "I am feeling what you are feeling," he said quietly.

"We are soldiers. Not playthings."

Jetstorm shrugged. "We are what Sir wants us to be," he said. "That is duty."

Jetfire understood what he meant. If Sir wanted them to kill and capture 'cons, they did so. If he wanted them in his berth, they did so. That was simply the way it was. He was their commander. He knew best how to put them to good use. Still... and it was hard to articulate this even inside his own processor, he didn't... want to.

The thought was uncomfortable. Soldiers weren't asked what they _wanted_. If he had an opinion on something he was meant to keep it to himself unless asked. Sir had never had any cause to reprimand them before, but if they refused his orders then he would have to punish them... Jetfire didn't know how, but it would have to be worse than berth-duties, wouldn't it? During training some of the other soldiers had talked about criminals being sent to the stockades. They had laughed about it, but in an uneasy way. They had been afraid.

Besides, what would he or Jetstorm even say? Next time Sir told them to pop their panels for him... 'no'? 'I'm not doing that sir'? Even the idea of it didn't seem like it could ever be real. He asked, they obeyed, it just… happened.

"Jetfire!" The voice of his twin broke through his thoughts. He pointed to the comms. The light on it was blinking - someone was trying to get through.

When they answered it, it was Sir's voice. "Soldiers, we have a situation. Looks like you might get to see some action again; there's a couple of Deceptiscum lurking around on planet. Meet me at street level. We're heading out to deal with them."

Jetfire shivered a little. He didn't know why. Still, this was what they wanted, wasn't it? Something better to do. Fighting 'cons was certainly that.

"Sir said to meet him on street," Jetstorm said, grinning. "Sir didn't say how we could get down there."

Jetfire perked up when he realised what his brother meant, and he slowly returned the smile. "Race you," he said, and made a break for the balcony. A short flight was better than no flight at all.

\----

Rung did not feel entirely himself. In truth he hadn't felt right since they had arrived in this dimension. There was a growing, strut-deep ache throughout his frame with no obvious cause, and at times he felt his spark pulse and _pull_ towards something he had no name for. He didn't know what was wrong with him, and that bothered him deeply.

As they moved away from the plaza with the holoscreen, the tug on his spark jerked insistently. He had felt it as strong as this only once before, while they had still been orbiting Earth's moon and had not yet left for Cybertron. It hadn't lasted long, and he had started to believe it would go away entirely. Yet since landing in Iacon...

Rung looked back. The tall buildings he assumed to be Iacon Towers were visible mere streets away. _Go there_ , something in him seemed to say. His spark felt pulled, magnetised towards something in that direction. What was this? What did it - and his general state of malaise - mean?

He didn't want to be a burden. That was part of why he had not ventured out of his office or mentioned this before. It didn't feel like the time to do so now either, not in the middle of a rescue mission. He set his sights back on Megatron and Minimus and kept going, shoving aside the dull pain. As he walked it became easier. The insistent tug lessened by increments. Tense cables relaxed.

Rung could focus on his surroundings once more, rather than on his own internal state. Minimus had stopped for directions again, but now they were headed to a more open area with fewer tall buildings. The streets were wider and reinforced beneath, as had been customary long ago back home for areas with heavy and industrial traffic. Some alt-modes could damage normal road surfaces. They passed more people wearing a strange adaptation of the Autobot brand, one with wings spreading out from either side of it. Their body-language was bold and confident, and other mechs and femmes looked at them with pride as they went past.

Megatron and Minimus were reacting far differently, growing more tense the further they went. Rung thought back, trying to think if he had seen this particular marking before. Oh. Yes. It had barely registered at the time given that the mech wearing it had been pointing a gun at him, but the soldiers who had boarded the _Lost Light_ had such a brand. Would these bots be aware yet what had happened to their comrades?

It seemed not, or at least it had not made them wary enough. He, Minimus and Megatron did not appear to have been noticed as out of the ordinary. The disguise of their stature seemed to hold. They walked past bars which seemed to still be open, unlike businesses of their type elsewhere in the city, and past other buildings which Rung was fairly certain were brothels judging by their discrete signage, until Megatron raised a servo to stop them at an intersection. To their left the road curved round to a checkpoint in a tall wall topped with shock-wire. He nodded towards it.

"That compound appears to match the footage from the newsfeed," he said quietly.

"I doubt our current appearance will be sufficient to get us inside," Minimus said, "And any message we send is bound to be examined on the way in."

"We need to find a place to observe the base," Megatron said, looking at the surrounding buildings. "Guard changes, who comes and goes and when..." His engine grumbled, a low vibration.

"I do not like the delay either," Minimus told him. "However I agree this appears to be our best option to find the others."

"I suspect an area like this has rooms to rent," Megatron said.

Rung felt the need to interject. "Our methods of payment are unlikely to be valid here," he noted.

Megatron nodded. "Theft is likely to attract unwanted attention."

Minimus visibly winced. "There must be a legal way to acquire funds."

"I didn't think to bring anything we might be able to sell," Rung said, thinking of his office back on the ship. Some of his models were quite rare and had taken a fair few shanix to acquire, but he would have been willing to give them up for something this important. Although their historical significance might have no meaning here.

"There must be someone willing to pay a few shanix for menial work," Megatron said. "We will just have to ask around."

\----

Optimus worried as he drove. He could imagine that the Decepticons must be desperate to try and get Megatron back, but as a rescue attempt this didn't seem to make sense. How had they gotten their servos on a shuttle? If it was a Decepticon craft then it would have been shot down before it could get far into Cybertron's airspace - besides which most shuttles didn't have transwarp engines. Where had it come from? Who exactly was on board?

He was also slightly concerned that this might be some kind of big misunderstanding with the bots from the _Lost Light_. He hadn't been invited to any of their negotiations with the Council himself, but he was aware that they were happening. If there had been some kind of... technical trouble maybe? They _were_ warframes, and those who didn't know about them might easily mistake them for Decepticons.

Maybe that would be the better option though. If the shuttle was from the _Lost Light_ Sentinel would be able to get all this sorted out when they arrived on the scene, and there would be no dangerous threat lose somewhere in Iacon. It would just be an embarrassing accident, and nothing more.

They were heading into some old industrial area. Sentinel came to a stop and transformed, and Optimus followed his lead. Overhead the Jettwins circled in alt, banking round before coming in to land. There was a small group of Elite Guard waiting for them, armed and on high alert.

"Sentinel Magnus sir!" Their Prime said, saluting as Sentinel approached. "We have secured the shuttle, but the occupants managed to get away."

"Get away?" Sentinel asked, sneering. It was that tone he had that was so good at making you feel small. Optimus knew from experience. "They're warframes! Not exactly inconspicuous! How did they manage that?"

"I can't explain it sir," the Prime said, looking slightly desperate. "We searched the area once we located the shuttle, but there was no sign of them. There haven't been any reports from the local area - and I'm certain someone would have called it in if they'd seen something! The only thing we've managed to find is a broken fence, but it might have been like that for some time. They've just... disappeared."

Sentinel frowned. "You had better find them, or I'll be holding you and your squad personally responsible for this mess."

"Yes sir." The guardsmech was clearly wishing he was anywhere else. Optimus wanted to point out how unfair Sentinel’s demand was, but it wasn't as though Sentinel had ever listened to his opinion in the past, let alone now.

"Jetstorm, Jetfire," Sentinel said, turning to the twins who snapped to attention. "Search the area from above. I'm sure you're more competent than these idiots." He reached out to pat Jetfire on the shoulder. Jetfire flinched. Optimus reset his optics, not sure if he had seen that right. He replayed the memory, forcing it to encode in high-fidelity. Yes, that had happened. Jetfire had moved away instinctively from the touch.

"We will not disappoint," Jetfire said quickly, trying to cover his reaction. He leapt into the air, transforming, followed by his brother. Sentinel didn't seem to notice anything wrong, turning back to the other soldiers and barking more orders.

Optimus remained where he was, trying to work out what was going on. As far as he could tell the twins were still their same cheerful selves... or was that really right? It wasn't as though he'd seen much of them since getting back to Cybertron. Now that he thought about it, maybe they _had_ been more subdued. Less talkative, less exuberant... but why?

Coupled with what had happened yesterday, being forbidden from leaving the building, he was starting to feel very uneasy. He didn't buy Sentinel's excuse. That hadn't been about safety. It was something else. Just what _was_ going on here?

He didn't know, but he wasn't entirely sure how he could find out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind dishes out some sexual education, while rescues are planned or waited for.

After Tailgate and Rewind were dragged out of Cliffjumper's office, their guards took them to what Tailgate might have described as quite a nice apartment, if the door hadn't been immediately locked behind them once they were inside. He spent a bit of time thumping against it trying to get somebody's attention, still thinking that maybe he could persuade someone that this had all just been some big mistake, but there was no answer.  He gave up eventually. Rewind had collapsed onto the room's big sofa and put his helm in his servos. At least the guards had taken their cuffs off before shoving them in here. That was something. Tailgate thought it was important to focus on the positives in this kind of situation.

Not that he had a lot of experience of being in this kind of situation.

"Didn't that bot say something about medical care?" he asked Rewind. He prodded the patch over his shoulder and winced at the sharp stab of pain. "Oww."

"Don't poke at it," Rewind told him. He seemed a little less woozy than he had earlier. "Frag that guy. Frag all of this!"

Tailgate vented out. "Yeah, this is really messed up," he said, coming over to sit by Rewind in what turned out to be a really comfortable chair. He wiggled deeper into the plush padding, relaxing. Small things.

"It's more than messed up!" Rewind snarled. "Did you hear what that bigot was saying?"

"Well yes, but I don't really... get it."

"He was trying to say that Chromedome forced me into a relationship," Rewind said. "That he must have been mistreating me, just because he's a warframe. 'Cos that guy was just like all the other bots around here, thinking that warframes aren't capable of anything but violence."

"But we _told_ them our warframes aren't like that!" Tailgate protested. "Why can't they believe that?"

"I understand bigots," Rewind said. His anger had cooled a little, or he was just controlling it better. "There were plenty of them around back in the bad old days, before the war changed everything. Functionalists were the worst, and this is just more of the same. Saying your alt mode determines your nature. Like disposables are meant to be docile, obedient and eager to please." His engine growled angrily - though gentler than the emotion probably warranted. His datastick alt ran off an electrical impulse generator rather than the 'true' engines of vehicle alts.

"But... people aren't like that," Tailgate said. "You only have to look around to see how different real mechs are from the kind of stereotypes you're talking about."

Rewind drew his legs up onto the couch, putting his arms around his knees. "Yeah, you would think that wouldn't you," he said. "But no. They see what they want to see, and they won't let go of their ideas even when all the evidence says something different. That's just what prejudice is like. They'd rather reshape the whole world to be like they think it is than change what they believe. That'd be too difficult, too painful for them. They can't cope with it, because it's everything they've built their lives around. Their _selves_ around."

"You've... thought about this a lot," Tailgate said quietly.

Rewind nodded. "Had to, when I was working with Dominus. We saw it all around us. Mostly I wasn't even treated like I was a real thinking person except by him. We spent a lot of time around nobles and senators - Dominus was a lobbyist. They assumed I was basically a drone. Meant they talked around me when they really ought to have known better sometimes. We had all these big plans... Get together enough blackmail material on these backwards senators that we could force them to bring some kind of progressive legislature through the Senate and make things better for everyone... Except then Megatron happened. All the senators Dominus worked with were dead. All my recordings were worthless."

"That's... that's terrible!"

"For a few reasons." Rewind shrugged. "It's not like I'm sad about them getting killed by the 'Cons. Most of them deserved it; the things they'd done, you could barely imagine... It's just ironic I guess. Megatron always went on about how it was impossible to change things peacefully, that the only way was violence. But we were _going_ to change the law peacefully and he stopped it happening with violence. He fragged over his own cause."

"So you think Cliffjumper is like those senators you used to know?" Tailgate asked.

"Psychologically, yes," Rewind replied. "He's got these ideas about what our world must be like based on his prejudices and assumptions, and if we say something different it isn't because _he's_ wrong. Oh no. He couldn't possibly be wrong. _We_ are the problem. We must be brainwashed, or mistaken, or naive, or indoctrinated, or... something, anything but telling the truth."

Tailgate was feeling a lot less confident about their situation than he had been before. "So... what do we do now?"

"We could always jump the medic when they get here," Rewind said. "Of course, maybe that should wait until after your shoulder has been repaired. Still, that might get us out of this room. Getting any further than that is where things would get tricky."

"I'm sure the others will be able to save us," Tailgate said. He tried to sound sure of himself, but in reality he didn't feel sure at all. Evil-Perceptor had said they were going to capture the _Lost Light_ as well, and even though he knew how formidable Megatron and Ultra Magnus were - oh, and Whirl as well! - they weren't going to be expecting something like this. What if they were tricked like Rodimus, and Cyclonus, and Chromedome...?

"It's always better to try and save yourself," Rewind told him. "We just need to figure out more about where we're being held, and how we might be able to get out. We'll figure it out eventually. It's just going to take a little bit of time."

"Do the others _have_ time? We have no idea what they intend to do to them!"

"That bot is going to want to talk to us again," Rewind said, narrowing his optics. "If he wants our cooperation, he's going to need to tell us some things as well, such as what he's done with our friends and with my conjunx."

Tailgate nodded. That sounded... okay actually. It was a plan at least.

There was a knock at the door. They both looked over, and heard the sound of some kind of internal lock being disengaged. A mech came in holding a case, medical symbols emblazoned on his shoulders. He reset his optics in the face of their intense regard.

"I was told there was a mech in need of assistance...?" he said hesitantly.

Rewind indicated Tailgate's shoulder with a nod. "Better get to work doctor," he said. "Don't want to spend too much time in with dangerous subversives like us."

\----

He had lost track of time again. Megatron refocused his optics on the bare ceiling of his cell above him. How long had he been lying on his berth caught up in thoughts of what could have been, of a future that would now never come to pass? Impossible to tell. They had never bothered to repair his internal chronometer.

He wasn't dead yet. That was how he knew things weren't going to go well for him. Well that, and that they had already tried hacking his processor. Thank the Allspark his firewalls had held this time. It had been so long since he had lived under the suffocating shackles of Autobot slavery. The mere thought of going back to that made him want to tear out his own fuel pump. He had seriously considered it several times. However some foolish speck of hope still lived on in his spark. Some part of him still believed that rescue was possible, even here in the most secure prison on Cybertron.

He, Lugnut and Shockwave had been brought here immediately after arriving on the planet. He hadn't seen them since. He had been put into this cell and the settings on his stasis cuffs had been altered to allow a greater degree of movement. If he did not try to move too rapidly or expansively, it would almost be possible to forget that he was still bound. After some time a medic had come to repair him, and it had been at that moment when he realised they did not intend to kill him. He had attempted to fight, but naturally they had simply activated the cuffs and paralysed his circuits.

The medic had not bothered to deactivate his neural network during the procedures that followed. Megatron was unsure if this had been meant as a punishment, or because they still thought of him as no more than an unruly malfunctioning weapon rather than a person. Even half-way to stasis he had been in agony. Eventually he had been unable to suppress his cries of pain, but that had simply resulted in his vocaliser being deactivated. Nothing else.

Perhaps he should class it as a form of torture. Intent was hard to gauge with Autobots. In any case, it had eventually ended. Then had come the attempt at hacking.

It hadn't succeeded. They hadn't tried again since. Yet he remained functioning. It suggested they intended to try again.

Perhaps they were using his officers as their experimental subjects. Perhaps they had already succeeded upon them. Not knowing was a constant weight on his shoulders, acid gnawing away at his struts. He thought of them often, processor spinning all kinds of scenarios each worst than the last. He was well aware it did no good to dwell this way. He could not change what was happening out there, beyond the walls of his cell. Yet the guilt, the fear, the anger, it still ate at him. He could not stop it.

Megatron had done his best to test the limits of his cell soon after he arrived. He had checked the walls, the floor and ceiling, the ventilation, the energy field that penned him in... Everything was smooth and secure. Impossible to damage in his current state. If he had still had his weapons... if he had been properly fuelled and back at his full strength... but not like this. Escape was not within his means to achieve from here. Which was not to say it was completely impossible. If he was ever taken out again there might be a chance, an opportunity he might seize...

There was also the slim possibility of help from outside. He knew Strika. His instructions to her in the case of his capture or death were very clear in stating that she should simply continue to try and achieve the goals of the Decepticon cause without him, but he knew her too well. She would want to try and rescue him, if she could. He wished he could believe she would succeed.

Some part of him wished he could just turn off his processor. Get away from his thoughts, which were his only company here. Awaken again only to his death or rescue or whatever the future had in store for him.

He would go out of his mind like this. Eventually.

\----

It was dangerous to rely on memory here in a world that was not their own. Megatron kept on thinking back to the Cybertron that had been, the orns and deca-cycles after he had returned to the planet with Frenzy and Rumble and made his life anew in the underworld of Kaon. As a miner he'd thought he knew what it was like to be among the lowest of the low, to live pinned beneath the treads of Functionalist doctrine, but at least the system did believe he _had_ a purpose. There was a job that he was made for, and a reason to keep him fuelled in energon so that he could continue to do it. A reason to try and pacify his processor with a few scant cycles of surface time to spend what meagre shanix he had left over from his paycheck after all the deductions for the basic needs of his existence.

In Kaon he met those without purpose for the first time. The obsolete, the rebellious, the outcast. Mechs who had alts which no longer sat neatly within the Grand Taxonomy and so no longer had any right to exist. Mechs who had broken the implicit rules laid down by their alts. Empuratees, or those who had simply left normal society behind to escape that fate when they were sure it was coming for them. The only energon they could ever lay their servos on was purchased with the proceeds of criminality in all its forms.

There had been no city on Cybertron without a dark underbelly of crime, but Kaon had been the worst for it. Megatron had learned much from people like them. He had made friends there. The memories of that time held too much anger for him to look back on with true fondness, yet... things had still been simpler then.

In any case he was used to the economies of that world. He was used to mechs who were willing to pay for things they did not wish to reach the attention of the authorities. He had expected to be able to find such a mech in this area, and yet so far they had been unsuccessful.

Megatron left their latest drinking-hole with growing frustration, Rung and Minimus following on behind him. A dangerous emotion for himself, he knew. It tempted him to resort to the violence that had served him so well in the past. It would not serve here and now.

The bartender inside had looked him over, commented that his frame did indeed seem suited for serious work, but when the subject of actual employment had come up some sort of fear had come into his optics. He had refused. Denied that he or anyone he knew had any such need. What was it that concerned him, exactly? The proximity to the military base? Would something so small as offering employment outside of assigned Function really attract that much attention?

They had asked at almost all the bars in the immediate area, as well as a few of the hotels. Nothing but similar responses. Megatron vented out and turned his attention to the various brothels that also lined the street. They might have something; not as buymechs since none of them exactly looked the part, but perhaps serving guard duty from overzealous customers?

Minimus caught the direction of his gaze and gave him an affronted look. "Surely not."

"Work paid under the table is the same everywhere," Megatron told him. "Or would it be the type of business that troubles you?" He was a little amused at how uncomfortable Minimus appeared to be with the idea. Although Megatron himself had never had much interest in the meaningless release of paid interface he had been unusual in that for a miner. Brothels were a popular place for his shift-mates to spend their shanix, and practically encouraged by the overseers. Oh, of course they were interfacing with each other often enough down in the deeps, but buymechs - at least the ones operating legally - had fancy mods specialised for the profession. Multi-port and cable banks, charge-sink capacitators...

In any case, Megatron had known plenty of mechs who had been sparked with that function, and more on the streets of Kaon who had no other way of earning energon but to sell interface. There was no shame in it - no more so than any other reality of exchanging the functions of one's form for fuel. As a gladiator he had sold the strength in his hydraulics and the shedding of energon for his own continued existence. The argument could easily be made that his choice had been the worse.

"Interface is a... private affair. It should be between mechs who mean something to one another," Minimus said.

"I agree that that is more pleasant," Megatron said, a sudden surge of heat coming up around his internals. He resisted the ping from his fans requesting activation. "However that was not what I was suggesting."

Rung, silent for some time, spoke up. "I've been thinking about our options actually," he said. "I know we wanted to stay away from anything that was too... too criminal. However given the lack of other potential avenues I felt it important to suggest that outright violence is hardly the only way of parting a bot from their money."

"Are you suggesting we run some kind of _confidence game_?" Minimus asked, his plating bristling.

Rung held up his servos. "Nothing so likely to make us memorable. In fact, I thought we could take advantage of how memorable I'm _not_. If we found a likely individual one of you could perhaps engage them in conversation whilst I affect to rush into them accidentally..."

"I can imagine the scenario well enough," Megatron said slowly, giving the idea all due consideration. "However I haven't seen any of these bots going around with their credit chips displayed openly. I assume they are stored in subspace, so how you would _get_ to the chip to relieve them of it..."

Rung looked puzzled. "I can just reach in and get it," he said. "I might not have an experience in theft personally, but I've never had any difficulty getting into a subspace pocket for something if it was necessary - and it sometimes has been, for the safety of my patients."

That... was very curious. Rung spoke as though invading another mech's subspace field and dipping into a personally defined dimensional pocket was as simple as taking an item from one of your own. He was hardly speaking from a lack of knowledge or experience. "Is this something you have always been able to do?" he asked.

"So far as I recall," Rung replied. "Perhaps it has something to do with my own somewhat expansive subspace field. I'm 90% hidden compartments after all." Megatron wasn't sure if that had been meant as a joke.

Minimus was clearly still not pleased, but it was obvious that this was more likely to work than continuing to ask for what the bots here were too afraid to give. "I would like it noted that I raised a formal objection to this plan," he said.

"So noted," Megatron said. "Let us find a potential mark."

\----

Brainstorm didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't want to know. It hadn't been long enough. He had almost slipped into stasis a few times as his systems rebelled against what was trying to push its way into them, but he had been even more afraid of what might happen while he was unaware than of the pain of bolstering his firewalls trying to fight it. There was a persistence to the alien coding that was cold and calculating and implacable, just like the mech who had designed it. It was relentless, and it latched on to even the smallest imperfection in his defences.

Eventually one of those imperfections had given way. The coding had gotten inside his processor and burrowed deep. He had felt... strange. Different, in a way that was hard to put a digit on. On the very edge of awareness he had been able to feel that strings of programming were being rewritten and priority trees were being rearranged, but it had been very distant and it had suddenly been hard to care.

Eventually he had been allowed to get up off the medical berth. His own Perceptor had still been around in the lab, but not in the same place hunched on the floor. Instead he was kneeling next to one of the computers, his servos still poised over the keyboard, staring over at Brainstorm. There was something terrible in his optics, raw and broken.

"The obedience protocols have finished their integration cycle," the evil Perceptor said. Brainstorm's spark shuddered and jumped inside its casing at the very sight of him. He wanted to... what did he want to do? Run away from him? That wasn't possible. Hurt him, attack him, kill him? Yes, _yes_ , but... oh, but it just wasn't the right time for that, now was it? "Warframe, tell me how you feel."

"Strange," Brainstorm said slowly. He didn't want to speak. He didn't want to talk to _this mech_. But maybe it would get him somewhere, earn trust, where resistance wouldn't...? "I'm not quite sure."

"What is your designation and your function?"

"My sparked designation is Genitus of Operation Solar Storm," Brainstorm found himself saying, and tried to stop himself. That was personal. Something he kept secret close to his spark. He didn't... he didn't want... He could feel his vocaliser activating through some kind of embedded control loop, a bypass that ran under the layer of his processor that was _him_. "I was constructed as a scientific assistant and bodyguard."

"The logic of sparking a warframe for that purpose is not clear to me," the alternate Perceptor said. "However I assume there were considerations I am simply not aware of. It is not relevant. Warframe Genitus, you will state your purpose in coming to this reality."

"There was no purpose," Brainstorm said. He didn't mind telling the truth when it came to this, but it was easier to let the coding speak for him. He was too busy panicking. How long had he managed to hold out for? Were the rest of his friends still imprisoned? Had Perceptor been concentrating on him, or had he tried this on anyone else yet? "Our arrival here was an accident. We only want to get home."

If he had been hoping that hearing the truth would convince this Perceptor that he had made a terrible mistake in doing this to them, he was wrong. Perceptor simply nodded, as though he had been expecting an answer like that.

"My alternate has been less effective than I hoped in altering the obedience coding to bypass your firewalls," the monster in front of him said. "Do you have any experience in this area?"

Brainstorm wanted to cry out. He could feel the surge of emotion through his cables, through his energon lines. The well of plasma that wanted to pour from his optics but which was held back by that part of him that was no longer him. No wonder Percy had been looking at him like that. But clearly there had been no choice. Awful as the whole thing was, Brainstorm didn't blame him for this for a second.

"No," he answered, glad that this was true.

"Do any of the other warframes have this experience?"

Brainstorm tried to clamp his dentae together, tried to take his vocaliser offline. It was useless. There was nothing that was still left to his control. "My friend Chromedome," he said. A little alien impulse prodded him to continue, to add more details, but he realised that he... _could_ resist it. Perhaps... perhaps not entirely out of his control then? Perhaps there was a difference between following the prompting of the coding to the spirit and to the letter.

"He shall be our next subject," Perceptor said. He turned away. "You may associate freely with my alternate. Your orders are to assist him in his part of my work, as is appropriate to your function."

Brainstorm gave a jerky nod. Pain warred with relief. Would this coding even let them speak to each other like actual mechs, or did it want them silent as drones? Still even being near Percy would be a relief. He needed... he needed to be able to hope that things could still turn out okay.

Please, Primus or Unicron or the Universe itself, please let things turn out okay.

\----

Tailgate rotated his arm through its full range of motion. Good as new, or thereabouts. That medic had known his stuff. After Rewind's comment about associating with 'subversives' though he hadn't spoken any more than he needed to, and had hurried away out of the room. The door had locked behind him, the noise loud enough to be easily heard. Since then there hadn't been much to do aside from explore the apartment they had been left in.

It wasn't that big, and built all on a scale which matched their frames. Which was normal for here, but still something that caught Tailgate off guard at odd moments. There were two different berth rooms, each with single recharge slabs. He supposed they must have just assumed he and Rewind wouldn't want to recharge together because they were used to doing so with their conjunxes, which might have been true except that he wanted the comfort of having another person around under the circumstances. Rewind must be feeling the same way, because he vented out when he saw the two rooms and grumbled about how difficult it would be to move one of the slabs into the other room.

Aside from that there was the main lounge, a room with wash racks, and a small room with an energon dispenser that did all different flavour additives. It seemed a bit too nice to be designed for prisoners, despite the heavy lock on the door. Tailgate wondered who would usually stay here. Had they replaced some poor mech or femme who worked for Cliffjumper? That seemed a bit unfair, especially as they didn't even want to be here!

"No obvious way out," Rewind observed, once they'd had a good look at everything.

"I guess so," Tailgate said. He was starting to feel drained. Recharge was sounding good right about now.

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, they both whirled to stare at it. The lock clicked open, and it slid aside to admit that red bot from earlier. Cliffjumper Prime. Tailgate felt Rewind go tense next to him, that faint whine of hydraulics readying and cables taking on tension.

"I was told you had been repaired now," Cliffjumper said. His optics flicked between the two of them, and his plating shifted with some unidentifiable emotion. "I came to see if there was anything you needed here."

"To be let out," Rewind said.

"Aside from that," Cliffjumper said, not seeming to take any offence at his cold tone. "Your accommodations are fine?"

"They'll do but... look, Rewind is right," Tailgate said. "You shouldn't have done this. You're wrong about what's been going on - Rewind told me what you _think_ is happening, and it's _not_."

"So let's talk about that," Cliffjumper said, like he was trying to be soothing. Like he was talking to a protoform fresh out the ground. "I want you to be able to tell me things."

"You're our captor," Rewind said. "Even if _you_ don't see it that way, you understand that we do, right? We don't trust you. We aren't going to start trusting you."

"Could we maybe sit down?" Cliffjumper asked. "I really did just come to talk. If you don't want to at all I'll go, but..."

"We did have some questions," Rewind said. "If you're so keen to ask your own. Fair is fair."

"That sounds... reasonable," Cliffjumper said. He came closer, sitting down in one of the padded chairs, keeping his motions slow and unthreatening. "Do you want to go first?"

"Yeah - what exactly have you done with our friends?" Rewind demanded.

Cliffjumper's plating went tight to his frame. "I told you. We're making sure they aren't a threat anymore."

"They weren't a threat to begin with," Tailgate said. "You just made that all up!"

"I didn't come here to argue," Cliffjumper said. "I want to _understand_. Rewind, your conjunx..."

"He didn't force me into anything," Rewind said, before the other mech could finish his question. "Get that into your glitched processor. We're together because we both want to be. We love each other."

"Maybe it feels like that..."

"I know what's real and what's not," Rewind said.

Cliffjumper paused. It was like you could see his processor working, Tailgate thought. Trying to find the right words to convince them his prejudice was reality. "Has he ever hurt you? Ever at all?"

"No."

Another pause. "Most conjunx relationships involve interface..."

"No slag," Rewind said, his voice flat.

Cliffjumper reset his optics. "Then he must have hurt you."

"If you think that, I think you might be doing interface wrong," Rewind told him.

"But the difference in the size of your frames... his spike..."

Rewind leaned back. Tailgate watched the back and forth anxiously. This was so uncomfortable. "Okay, so we're really doing this then. Talking about my interface life with a mech that ordered me captured and has done who knows what to my conjunx. Sure."

"If it's difficult for you to talk about what he's done..." Cliffjumper started to say, with an almost painful earnestness.

"Oh please... Yes, we've been conjunx long enough that we got to that stage in our relationship a long time ago. We got the paired mods - do you guys really not..." He stopped. Tailgate saw some kind of realisation blossom in Rewind's processor but whatever it was, it hadn't hit _him_. "No, you're all the same size aren't you. Roughly, I mean."

"Could you explain what you mean?" Cliffjumper said.

"I mean most of you probably would just... naturally fit." Cliffjumper still looked puzzled, and Tailgate was feeling the same way. Rewind continued, "Okay, I see now why you were so concerned. We do things differently back home I assume - when we've got to the point where we trust each other enough to interface through arrays, we go and get a matching set custom made for ourselves. Chromedome doesn't still have the spike he was sparked with, and I don't have the same valve."

Cliffjumper's optics were very wide. "You... but that's such an intimate thing to do to yourself!"

"Obviously," Rewind said. "That's why it's a commitment."

"Still," Cliffjumper said, apparently still reeling from this revelation, "To demand someone change such an integral part of themselves... what about other partners if you decided you didn't want to go ahead with the conjunx rite?"

"Whoa," Rewind said, holding up a servo. "Getting paired arrays isn't something you do with any bot that catches your fancy! And that's _because_ it's personal and intimate. We'd already been conjunxes for ages before we did that."

"But... I can't imagine waiting so long for your first interface," Cliffjumper said, heat building behind his faceplates. "Is it really like that where you come from?"

"I mean, we have cables," Rewind said, stating the obvious. "It's not like we're all the kind of bots who believe you shouldn't interface outside of an official relationship or something."

"Cable connection is _far_ more intimate than an array," Cliffjumper protested.

"Not if you keep your firewalls up," Tailgate blurted out, and then felt deeply embarrassed. Well it wasn't like Cliffjumper would be able to _tell_ he was talking from personal experience.

"What firewalls?"

"You don't have..." Rewind looked over at Tailgate. Tailgate had a brief surge of memory, Cyclonus' deep, vast systems opening up for him behind the hazy barrier of his firewalls and that warm complicated processor blasting through his own flimsy, ancient, Golden Age firewalls like they simply weren't there.

Tailgate had been a civilian waking up to a future where Special Ops hadn’t been above setting honeytraps to steal information from the enemy. Everyone in their post-war world had strong firewalls that made cable interface perfectly safe. Over here... Still, weak firewalls wasn't the same as no firewalls at all!

"I need to think about this," Cliffjumper said, getting up. "Thank you for your time." He rushed out of the room.

"Perhaps we might actually have gotten through to him," Rewind said thoughtfully.

"I hope so," Tailgate replied. Uncomfortable as that conversation had been, he would put up with anything so long as it meant getting out of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this 'verse I actually think disposables like Rewind weren't built with arrays, but things were complicated enough without bringing that up with Cliffjumper as well.


End file.
